


Traveling Light

by wearing_tearing



Series: Home [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Angel Bucky Barnes, Artist Steve Rogers, Blood, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Fantasy, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, Flying, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Nudity, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Soul Bond, Sparring, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10037927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: When Steve wakes up, it is a surprise.The last thing he remembers is the bottom of the lake, sharp teeth and yellow eyes, and the cold pressure of not being able to breathe. But he isn’t dead. He didn’t drown. He is not in the water anymore.Instead, he is warm, very much alive, and wrapped in a cocoon of feathers.He’s also naked. And with a man lying right next to him.





	1. Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ratqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratqueen/gifts).



> hi hello! this fic was originally prompted by meg, who asked for stevebucky + keeping warm. the first chapter was posted [on tumblr](http://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/post/150602741316/hmmm-23-or-27) about 5 months ago, so this might be recognizable to some of you :P i planned on expanding it into a long fic, and now here i am!
> 
> the fic is rated m for nudity and dark fantasy/fairy tale elements for now, but please note that **the rating will change**! i've also decided to include **additional warnings in author's notes** , so please do read them before each chapter.
> 
> happy reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings** for this chapter: mentions of drowning, nudity, blood, and statues who used to be live beings once.

“Help! Mommy, please! Help!”

Steve takes off running as soon as he hears the child’s screams, dropping the logs of wood he was carrying back to his cabin to the snow-covered ground.

He doesn’t stop to think about how strange it is to hear a child near these parts, when he is one of the only people around. He doesn’t stop to think of the stories about this place, of people disappearing to never be heard from again. He doesn’t stop to think of the warnings he got when he bought his home, here deep in the forest, not to venture near the lake and to always keep to the clear paths.

Steve doesn’t think. He just hears the innocent cry of a child asking for help and runs, feet making fresh tracks in the snow, heart beating faster as the screams grow louder and louder the closer he gets to the lake.

A lake that is deep and dark and cold, but not yet frozen with a thick layer of ice.

Steve sees the splashes of water as he gets to the shoreline, the screams tapering off to gurgles, little hands breaking the surface as if reaching for something to hold on to. There is no one else around, something Steve would find odd if he wasn’t terrified. Terrified and already taking his coat and boots off, ready to go rescue the child.

The first brush of water against Steve’s feet is pain, which he does his best to ignore, the freezing water soaking his clothes as he tries to reach the kid. There are no more screams, this time, only bubbles of air breaking through the surface, which Steve uses to guide him as he starts swimming.

Not that he gets very far.

Not when suddenly the bubbles are gone, the lake dark and dead quiet, as if there never was a child at all.

And not when a hand wraps around his ankle, sharp nails digging into his skin, and drags him all the way down.

 

**

 

When Steve wakes up, it is a surprise.

The last thing he remembers is the bottom of the lake, sharp teeth and yellow eyes, and the cold pressure of not being able to breathe. But he isn’t dead. He didn’t drown. He is not in the water anymore.

Instead, he is warm, very much alive, and wrapped in a cocoon of feathers.

He’s also naked. And with a man lying right next to him.

 

**

 

“You’re awake.”

Steve doesn’t have time to freak out.

As soon as he hears those words spoken from behind him, the feathers start moving, and a pair of hands sure and strong on his bare hips turn him around. Steve makes a little of sound of protest, which instantly gets swallowed up when he’s faced with the person lying next to him.

The first thing Steve notices are his eyes, blue and cold, very much unlike the pure _warmth_ that radiates from his body. The second thing are his lips, pink and plump and relaxed, almost as if they’re curled up in amusement. The third thing, though, is the one that steals Steve’s breath from his lungs, almost as if his drowning again.

Because there, growing from the man’s back, are wings.

Huge feathery blue-grey wings, almost the same color of the man’s eyes, which are wrapped around Steve, keeping him warm.

 

**

 

Steve knows of angels.

He’s heard stories countless times, of their beauty and grace and value. He’s also aware of the cruelty they were met with, once walking the earth; when worship took a dark turn, and people’s desire for blessings turned into a desire for pretty things to look at.

The statues displayed in churches and squares and museums and cemeteries were live beings, once. Now they are death, trapped in cement and hot metals, no life left in them.

So to see an angel, living and breathing and _whole_ , is something Steve never thought possible. Not when most of them were dead or long gone.

But here he is, naked and in bed with one, who despite his hatred for humans, still tried to keep Steve warm.

“Wow,” Steve whispers despite himself, awe and gratitude mixed together. And then he promptly snaps his mouth shut, cheeks turning pink in embarrassment.

The man — the _angel_ — smiles, just a little quirk of lips, wings fluttering against Steve’s skin. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think the man is _preening_.

“Eloquent,” the angel says, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess I shouldn’t expect any better from someone who almost let himself get eaten by a mermaid.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Steve snaps as he reels back, offended, making him completely forget about being embarrassed and _naked_ in another man’s bed.

The angel frowns, arms tightening around Steve’s waist. “I thought you _humans_ warned each other about those things.”

Steve knows the way the angel spits out the word ‘humans’ is justified, after everything that has been done. But he curls his hands into fists against the angel’s chest anyway, trying to push him away. Not that Steve is able to. It is like trying to move a marble statue; extremely difficult.

“No one told me there were _mermaids_ , asshole.”

And they didn’t.

They warned Steve about the faeries and their faerie rings, the werewolves and their packs, the lonely troll under the abandoned bridge. They even warned Steve about the nice old witch that sells potions and ointments in a little shop in the town.

There was nothing about mermaids, though.

And there was definitely nothing about the _angel_ living somewhere near the forest.

It makes sense, really. Steve knows if anyone knew about the angel, he would not be here for much longer.

“No one told you to keep away from the lake?” the angel asks, incredulous. “Did they _want_ you to die?”

Steve opens his mouth to argue again, only he realizes that people _did_ warn him. They just never came right out and said anything about mermaids.

The angel takes Steve’s silence as some form of agreement, his expression turning blank and gaze sharpening. Steve feels him go still, even the feathers against his skin stopping with their fluttering.

“What did you do?” the angel demands, voice flat yet commanding, showing Steve a glimpse of just how old and powerful he is.

And Steve knows what angels are capable of. There was blood and death and slaughter when they were hunted, as they did not go down without a fight.

“I didn’t do _anything_ ,” Steve answers. “I thought I heard a kid drowning. I just wanted to _help_. It’s not my fault no one told me the reason I had to keep away was because some mermaids might try to _eat me_.”

The angel stares at him, gaze piercing and assessing. It feels like he’s looking right through Steve and into the very core of him, measuring Steve’s words against the depths of his soul. Steve just raises his chin, righteous as he can be. It is not much, if he’s being honest, seeing as they’re still pressed tightly together, skin to skin, no barriers between them.

It’s the most vulnerable Steve has ever felt, and he is not sure he likes it.

“You speak truth,” the angel murmurs, muscles relaxing, although he does not release his grip on Steve. “You did no one harm. To no one but yourself, at least.”

Steve takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He can feel the shift of feathers beneath him, the angel’s wings back to their fluttering. It tickles a little, especially where they touch Steve’s sides and the back of his knees. But it also feels nice, warm, and safe.

“Look,” Steve starts, flattening his hands against the angel’s chest, “I really didn’t know. So thank you for saving me, but I’d really like to go back to my house now.”

“You can’t leave,” the angel says, and Steve is struck cold with fear for a second, before he adds, “You still need to warm up.”

“I’m plenty warm already,” Steve replies, acutely aware of all the points their bodies touch, of the softness of feathers all around him, of the heat radiating from the angel’s body.

In fact, Steve thinks he might burst into flames any minute now.

The angel must read something on his face because his small smile is back, eyes crinkling a little at the corners. Steve watches, fascinated, because he never knew angels could have crinkles. Now that he _does_ know that, though, he also notices the smattering of hair covering the angel’s chest and the little trail leading down from under his navel to his—

And yes, that is a dick that Steve is feeling against his thigh, soft and unassuming, like all of this is perfectly alright.

“You’re lucky you aren’t dead,” the angel tells him. “You were blue when I got you out. Let me make sure you’re really okay before I take you back to your home.”

And that’s when it hits Steve, when it _really_ hits him.

He almost _drowned_ in a freezing lake to serve as _food_ for a freaking mermaid. He almost _died._ He would most certainly be _dead_ right now, if it wasn’t for—

“Shhh,” the angel says, tucking Steve close, his wings wrapping tighter around Steve’s body. “Shhh, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Steve is shaking, teeth chattering and face wet with tears as he gasps and cries and lets himself feel how close to death he was. The angel just holds him, whispering words of comfort Steve can’t make out, hands rubbing up and down Steve’s back.

It takes Steve a few minutes to calm down, breath hitching as he tries to get himself back under control. His face is buried against the angel’s chest, and he can feel soft feathers brushing against his cheeks, almost as if trying to offer some comfort, too.

“Sorry,” Steve croaks out, pulling back and wiping the tears from his face.

“It’s okay,” the angel says, softer than ever before. “I know it’s hard to be faced with your own mortality.”

Steve almost asks _how_ , but then remembers the weeping angels posted around the cemetery where his mother is buried, and keeps his mouth shut.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, “for not letting me die.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” the angel answers, blue eyes glinting. “Stay until I tell you it’s safe to leave again.”

“You’d let me?” Steve can’t help but ask, eyes widening. “When I could tell everyone—”

“You won’t,” the angel says, absolute certainty in his tone. “I’ve seen your soul, Steven. I know what kind of man you are.”

“Steve,” Steve corrects, too stunned to be able to say anything else.

“Steve,” the angel repeats, and then offers him a smile, slightly bigger and more genuine than all of the other ones. “You can call me Bucky.”

“What kind of name is Bucky?” Steve blurts out, horrified at himself.

The angel — _Bucky_ — doesn’t smite him, just raises an eyebrow and says, “The kind of name I chose for myself.”

There’s a story there, Steve knows, but he’s not about to ask. As it is, he’s becoming aware all over again that he’s _naked_ beside this man, their bodies pressed together from feet to chest. They’re touching _everywhere_ , and while the warmth feels, well, _heavenly_ , Steve is also a little embarrassed about it.

It’s been a very long time since he’s been this close to someone, this _intimate_ , and he’s unsure of what to do. If there was anything sexual about this, Steve wouldn’t be as clueless, but there is nothing about this situation that is like that at all.

This is just comfort, bodies sharing warmth, both of them quiet and relaxed against each other. It’s simply human — or, well, human and angel — contact, and it wasn’t until now that Steve realized how starved he was for it.

Steve shivers, pressing himself closer to Bucky, who in return just holds him tighter. Steve can feel little tremors running down Bucky’s body, wings still aflutter, and he wonders if Bucky’s been missing this kind of intimacy just as much as he has.

He must have, Steve thinks, when he’s probably one of the last of his kind left on earth. And when he has to keep himself hidden from everyone to avoid a painful and cruel fate.

“Where are we?” Steve asks, breath ghosting over Bucky’s collarbone. He knows it must be somewhere remote, away from prying eyes and civilization. Steve himself made his home in a secluded area, but he still has people passing by every once in a while.

“We’re safe,” Bucky answers, every word he shapes making his lips brush against Steve’s forehead. “Some miles away from where I found you. I can take you back to your home once it’s dark.”

“That’s more than a day’s walk.” Steve frowns. “And I left my boots at the lake.”

“You did,” Bucky laughs a little, “but you can borrow a pair of mine. And I never said anything about walking.”

Steve’s eyes go round as he leans back to look at Bucky. “You can _fly_?”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder, his wings moving. “They’d be kind of useless if I didn’t.”

“They’d still be beautiful,” Steve comments, fingers itching to reach out and touch.

“And that is a curse,” Bucky answers softly, gaze sad and filled with so much pain it makes Steve’s heart hurt.

So once again, Steve doesn’t think.

Steve doesn’t think, and leans forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky, hands coming to rest just between his shoulder blades where his wings grow.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and hugs Bucky as tight as he can.

 

**

 

Sometime between hugging Bucky as hard as he can and having Bucky hug him back, Steve falls asleep. He wakes up what must be a couple of hours later, feeling a bit sore and a lot comfortable, with Bucky’s limbs and wings wrapped around him.

They’re both still naked, which Steve is a little embarrassed about. It feels nice, though, to have Bucky this close to him, Bucky’s chest pressed hot against his back. And the feathers of Bucky’s wings are soft, the wing twitching a little under Steve’s fingers when he finds the courage to reach out and touch them.

“Feels nice,” Bucky says from behind him, voice slurred with sleep.

Steve jolts a little, fingers digging into Bucky’s wing without meaning to. “Sorry,” he rushes, taking his hand back.

“‘S okay,” Bucky says, nuzzling at the back of Steve’s neck, breathing in deep. “Feels good.”

Steve swallows, tentatively running his fingers through the feathers one more time. Bucky sighs, pressing impossibly closer, his soft dick cradled against Steve’s ass. Steve lets himself enjoy this closeness, knowing soon enough he’ll have to leave and probably won’t ever see Bucky again.

Steve shivers, snuggling closer to Bucky, heart heavy with sadness. He stops caressing Bucky’s wing, turning around in Bucky’s embrace so they’re facing each other. Bucky’s eyes are half-lidded, pink lips parted, and cheeks flushed. He looks content, and the sight makes Steve’s stomach flip, because he has a feeling it is a rare one to witness.

“Will I ever see you again?” Steve asks, breaking the quiet between them.

Bucky blinks once, feet rubbing up against Steve’s calf, warming him up even more. It is the words he says next, though, that burn a fire through Steve’s heart, “If you wish to.”

“I do,” Steve says, heart in his throat, and then closes the distance between them.

The kiss they share is nothing but a mere brush of lips, soft and sweet and chaste. It is also a promise, and the beginning of something great. It is earth-shattering and all-consuming in its innocence, and it forms a bond between them that neither are expecting, but it feels as if it is meant to be.

“Oh,” Steve says when he pulls back, wide-eyed and breathless, his entire body tingling.

“You—,” Bucky starts, only to be cut off when Steve starts screaming.

 

**

 

It is more pain than Steve has ever felt.

It is like his body is shifting, bones straining and breaking and reforming under his skin. It eats at him, it hurts, and it steals the breath from his lungs. It is like his drowning again, only this time there is no swimming to the surface.

It hurts and it hurts and it hurts, and Steve can hear Bucky’s voice near him, can feel the flutter of wings against his body, can feel Bucky’s hands on his back. He can also feel the rush of blood, thick and warm sliding down his spine, as the skin between his shoulder blades stretches and tears.

And so his wings break free.

 

**

 

When Steve comes to, he is on the floor.

Bucky is kneeling in front of him, blood on his hands and awe clear in every line of his face. His eyes are shining, chest rising and falling as he pants for breath, gaze glued to Steve.

Steve swallows hard, shoulders twitching, feeling heavy and tired and sore and in pain. He looks up at Bucky, voice nothing but a rasp when he asks, “What the fuck?”

Bucky just shakes his head, seeming at a loss for words. It takes him a few tries, mouth opening and closing without making any sounds, before he can finally get out, “Angel blood.”

Steve blinks, and once again says. “What the fuck?”

“You must’ve have had it, someone in your family who…” Bucky lets out a breath, eyes going from Steve’s face to his back and back again, “...who was one of us.”

Steve closes his eyes, desperately wishing his mother was still alive, if only so he could ask her some very serious questions. “Why did it— Why _now_?”

“Can we—,” Bucky starts, stops, makes an aborted gesture to reach out and touch Steve. “Can I clean you up first?”

Steve doesn’t look over his shoulder. He looks down instead, at the dark pool of blood seeping to the floor beneath his feet. He shifts his shoulders, relieved when he doesn’t feel a new fresh wave of blood spilling down his back, but hissing when his skin still feels tender.

“Please?” Bucky whispers, offering a hand to Steve, his gaze so tender and hopeful all Steve can do is agree.

Bucky makes him lie down on his stomach on the bed, helping Steve with his wings. Steve still doesn’t look at them, eyes closed and breathing harsh. He can hear Bucky walk away, the sound quickly followed by the splash of water, and then him coming back.

The first touch of a wet cloth against Steve’s back is a relief, breath rushing out of him as he relaxes into the mattress, keeping still as Bucky gently wipes away at the blood covering him. Steve doesn’t feel cold anymore, body warm even in its nakedness and away from Bucky’s body heat.

“Talk to me,” Steve tells Bucky, fingers gripping at the sheets, all to keep himself from reaching behind him and touching his wings.

“There are stories,” Bucky starts, hands gentle on Steve’s back, “about angels and those who are closer to grace than most. Those who have a little bit of us inside them. And those we are meant to love.”

Steve’s heart skips a beat in his chest, feeling the truth of Bucky’s words. “Stories?” he asks, laughing a humorless laugh. “This doesn’t look much like a story.”

“Most of our traditions were lost to us,” Bucky explains, “thought to be myths, when we left the skies. So there were _stories_ of humans finding one of us, humans who were not _just_ humans, and getting little pairs of wings of their own.”

“Not all of them, though,” Steve adds, and comes to understand a little why angels are coveted so, and why humans came to hunt them.

“No, not all,” Bucky agrees, wet cloth now at the small of Steve’s back. “The only humans who got their wings were humans who could come to love us. Like wolves have mates, angels had—”

“Us,” Steve finishes, licking his lips.

“You,” Bucky says softly, and Steve feels it deep in his soul. “It was not binding, this bond. After getting their wings, they were still free to choose their own fate.”

“But not anymore.”

Not when they’re hunted and killed and made into perfect little statues.

“You can, still,” Bucky tells him, laying his hand flat between Steve’s shoulder blades, thumb and pinkie finger just barely touching the feathers on Steve’s wings. “I can help you find a safe place to live. I can teach you all I know.”

Steve thinks about it.

He thinks about the little cabin he calls home, about the aching loneliness he felt once he left his old house and the memories of his mother behind, of the fresh snow falling to the ground as he buried her six feet under. He thinks about the meaningless life he’s lead since he came to live in the woods, the crushing weight of sadness, the longing for something to make him feel like life was worth living again.

Steve thinks about it, and although he knows Bucky might not be the answer to all of those problems, he still wants to take a chance. He can’t deny the pull he felt for Bucky, just mere hours ago when he woke up to a life after almost dying. It might just be because of who he _thought_ he was, but it also might not. And Steve wants a chance to find out. He wants to make the choice for himself, with as much information as he can.

So Steve opens his eyes, looks back at Bucky, and says, “Teach me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! this is still very much a WIP at the moment, but i’ll try my best to update it weekly. :)


	2. Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings** for nudity, mentions of blood, very very brief and slight humiliation, and past mentions of angel slaughter. i promise it's not as bad as it sounds???? :P

“First, you need to know how to stand.”

“I think I know how to do that,” Steve says dryly, eyebrows raised.

Bucky huffs, and Steve can hear the sound of wet cloth hitting the cabin floor. “Your center of gravity has changed. You can’t tell while you’re on your stomach, but the wings make a big difference.”

“I think I _can_ tell,” Steve grumbles, muscles tight and aching, the lingering feeling of excruciating pain still making his skin tingle.

“You don’t know how to use them, though,” Bucky points out. “The wings, its different parts. The first step is knowing how to hold yourself up, how to find balance, how not to tip on your back as soon as you get two feet under you.”

Steve can hear laughter in Bucky’s tone, the sound rushing through him and tugging at his heart. He takes a deep breath, pressing his face against the pillow, nose filling with the scents of snow and wood and fresh earth.

“Okay,” Steve says, bracing his hands on the mattress and getting his knees under himself, slowly pushing himself up. That means he ends up on all fours on top of the bed, still naked as the day he was born. “I should have put on clothes first.”

Bucky makes a little soft sound somewhere behind him. “I’ll go find us some pants.”

Steve shakes his head, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He has more important things to worry about than being naked in front of Bucky, especially since the angel is the one who took his clothes off in the first place.

Little by little, Steve crawls up on the bed. It’s difficult to move with the wings weighing him down, but as Steve gets his hands around the bed frame, he manages to pull himself up into a kneeling position. That means one of his wings lies on the bed, while the other grazes the floor, nearing the pool of Steve’s blood staining the wood.

Like that, Steve gets his first look at this new part of himself. His wings are a darker blue than Bucky’s, with silver tints to it when they catch the morning sun. They’re beautiful, Steve observes, and the concept leaves a weird taste in his mouth. He has a hard time reconciling that word with any part of him, when he’s so used of not thinking much of himself. The fact that the wings are so foreign, so new, so _odd_ don’t help at all.

“Here.”

Steve shakes his head, snapping out of his thoughts. Bucky is standing beside him once again, now dressed in only grey sweats, holding a pair of blue and grey flannel pants up to Steve.

“Thank you,” Steve says quietly, giving himself a few seconds to mourn the loss of the incredible sight that are Bucky’s bare thighs. “Uh,” he clears his throat, glancing at his own wings and then down at the pants. “I might need some help.”

“Of course.” Bucky nods, face carefully devoid of emotion. “This can be your first lesson.”

“How to dress myself?” Steve huffs, gripping the clothes tight in one hand as he prepares himself to move.

“That, and how to stand up without falling over.”

“Okay,” Steve takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay.”

Steve tries to move from his kneeling position to sit down on the bed without much success. His left wing bends awkwardly against the mattress, pressing down into it and almost snapping a few feathers. Steve hisses, sharp pain singing through his new muscles, stopping at the middle of his back.

“So that didn’t work,” Bucky comments, lips twitching when Steve glares at him, jaw tight.

“Then _help me_ ,” Steve says through gritted teeth, cheeks hot at finding himself _naked_ in front of one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen and at being as awkward and helpless as a fawn when doing it.

Bucky takes a step closer, the heat of his body pressing into Steve’s skin. “You have new muscles to work with,” he says, unceremoniously reaching behind Steve and resting his fingers at the base of Steve’s wings, making him shiver, “right here. You need to get them to move, so that way your wings won’t drag on the floor or bend at awkward angles when you shift around. It’s going to take some work, but you can do it.”

Steve doesn’t have a choice _but_ to do it, although he doesn’t say that to Bucky. He tries to focus on the heat of Bucky’s fingers against his skin, on what’s under it, on the new and weird feeling of having wings sprouting from his back. He sets his jaw, taking in deep harsh breaths as he focuses on moving his wings up and away from the bed so he can move without crushing them.

It hurts, when Steve finally gets his wings to obey him, nerves frayed and muscles aching. They gather close against his back, like Bucky’s wings are now, the feathers tickling him a little. Steve would laugh if he wasn’t so tired, his forehead damp with sweat.

“Good,” Bucky murmurs, breath ghosting over Steve’s cheek.

When Steve opens his eyes, not having realized that he had closed them at some point, he finds Bucky smiling at him, a small and proud smile, in a barely there twist of his lips. Steve twitches a little, wings fluttering once before they settle back against him.

“Will it get easier?” Steve asks him, panting a little.

“It always does,” Bucky tells him, and then adds, a glint in his eyes, “If you practice.”

Steve snorts, swallowing once before he flexes his thighs, shifting a little in bed. “I should stand up,” he mumbles, and his eyes catch the pair of pants he’s still holding, “and put on some clothes.”

“You’re not used to the weight of wings on your back,” Bucky says, hands sliding from under the base of Steve’s wings to rest on his stomach, leaving a trail of heat in their place. “Keep your core tight. It’ll help.”

Steve once again focuses on Bucky’s touch to center himself, and tries to kneel up on the bed. He almost tips backwards before he remembers Bucky’s words, locking his muscles, his wings drawing closer to his body in the process.

“C’mon,” Bucky murmurs in encouragement, hands pressed to Steve’s abs. “One foot on the floor now, then the other.”

Steve does as instructed, his harsh breathing echoing through the otherwise silent cabin. He is trembling with effort, movements clumsy as he swings one leg over the bed, bare foot touching the cold floor. Steve tests his weight, happy to know that despite everything, his knee doesn’t buckle.

“That’s it,” Bucky says, thumbs rubbing circles against Steve’s skin. “You’re doing good.”

Bucky’s words wrap themselves around Steve, tugging at his chest. They help him brace his weight and uncurl his other leg from under himself, only swaying a little in place before he stands on his own two feet, Bucky still touching him, wings secured tight.

“Fuck,” Steve curses, entire body hurting.

It is worth it, though, when Bucky smiles at him, big and bright and proud. “You did it.”

“Don’t think I can move anymore,” Steve pants, naked and sweaty.

“Not even to put on some pants?” Bucky asks, smiling turning into something Steve swears is a smirk.

Steve makes a little hurt sound in the back of his throat. He doesn’t want to stay naked, vulnerable, in front of Bucky. No more than he has been already. A part of him knows Bucky doesn’t mind, doesn’t register nudity as something to be embarrassed about. But then again, Bucky’s been an angel for longer than the world as Steve knows it has existed, while Steve was still human twenty minutes ago.

“Fuck,” Steve says again, with a lot of feeling. He bats Bucky’s hands away, glaring when Bucky raises them up in front of himself, an universal gesture of surrender. “Okay, I can do this.”

Steve remembers to keep his wings to himself as he bends over, little by little. His face burns hot at the undignified position, and at what a total fool he must look like to Bucky, but he pushes that aside, concentrating on the task at hand.

He focuses on keeping his balance as he raises one leg and slips it into the pants, the smooth fabric catching against the sweat on his skin. He struggles a little to pull it up, but manages it without falling on his ass. The second leg is easier, now that he knows he can do it, although he still moves slowly.

Once the pants are above his knees, though, and both his feet are still on the ground, Steve gets cocky and forgets to keep his muscles locked. And when he relaxes, so do his wings, extending behind him, and his entire world turns upside down.

Steve falls backwards onto the bed with a thud, air rushing out of his lungs and pain sliding through him when he lands on top of his wings. The pants are still only pushed up over his knees, leaving him exposed as he swears in frustration and anger.

“You relaxed,” Bucky points out, which is of no help at all. He continues speaking, tone softer when he says, “You did very good, up until then.”

Steve closes his eyes, counting to ten in an effort to calm himself down. He feels Bucky’s hands at his legs and opens his eyes, firmly placing a foot on Bucky’s chest, pushing him away. “I’m going to do it.”

Bucky stares down at Steve’s foot, gaze trailing upwards until he meets Steve’s eyes. His eyes are shining with emotion, even though his expression is blank. “Okay,” he says, taking a step back, hands falling to his sides.

Sitting up proves to be difficult, but after a lot of shifting and pain and curses, Steve manages, reminding to keep his wings drawn closer to his body. It helps that now all that he has to do is pull his pants up, which he can do without a lot of effort on his part.

“Thank fuck,” Steve breathes out in relief once the elastic settles over his hips, pants successfully covering him from Bucky’s eyes.

“Good,” Bucky says, and then utters the words Steve’s longed to hear, “You can rest now.”

Without further prompting from Bucky, Steve flops down on the bed, exhausted and wary, and falls asleep.

 

**

 

It takes Steve two weeks before he’s able to stand on his own for more than two minutes at a time without feeling like he’s dying. Two weeks in which he lives with a constant ache on his muscles, as his body adapts and learns how to live with his new wings.

“You’re a fast learner,” Bucky says with approval as he watches Steve tuck his wings in when he walks into the kitchen, careful not to hit anything and send it crashing to the floor.

“They feel more like me, now,” Steve comments, grabbing himself a mug and filling it with coffee, its bitter aroma permeating the air.

It strikes Steve as strange how comfortable he is at Bucky’s cabin. In such a short time it already feels like home to him, when his own forgotten place took him months to get used to. It might be the pull Steve feels towards Bucky that helps him, or it might just be that Bucky is good company.

Steve hasn’t decided yet.

“That’s good.” Bucky nods, biting into a pear before offering it to Steve.

Steve shakes his head, mind going back to his place, an idea tugging at him. “Do you think…” Steve starts, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.

“What?” Bucky asks around a mouthful of fruit, spitting a few bits of pear on the table.

Steve wrinkles his nose in disgust, wondering how Bucky can still look so beautiful when he lacks simple manners. “Do you think,” he repeats, words slow, “that I could go back to my own cabin?”

Bucky’s expression goes from curious to marble stone, a blank slate. His eyes are cold, and he’s holding himself so still Steve thinks he’s not breathing. Steve himself has a hard time taking a deep breath, suddenly faced with Bucky’s _otherness_ so evident in front of him.

A part of Steve had forgotten, these past couple of weeks, that Bucky might act human, but he is _not_. And as Steve’s wings flutter in distress against his back, Steve reminds himself that that kind of truth does not belong only to Bucky. Not anymore.

“No,” Bucky says, the space of three seconds feeling more like a lifetime. “You would not be safe.”

“And I’m safe here?” Steve asks him, harsher than he meant to, anger bubbling up inside of him.

“You are.” Bucky stands up, wings extending behind him, blue and beautiful and intimidating. “Here I can keep you alive.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” Bucky asks, eyes flashing. “If I remember correctly, you’re here because you couldn’t.”

Steve’s own wings move, uncurling themselves from behind him at the same time his hands curl into fists. “I’m not a child.”

“No, you’re not,” Bucky agrees, “but you are young and reckless. Living that close to town means putting yourself at risk. And what will you do when humans surround you, drag you out of your home, and pour molten gold on your wings and fill your lungs with cement because they want to display you like art in their filthy homes? Will you be able to take care of yourself then?”

Steve’s stomach churns with fear and dread, horror rushing through him and making him numb. He knows the stories, and he knows the absolute cruelty of it, but it is not until Bucky is standing in front of him, tall and deadly, his words carrying so much hurt and despair, that it hits Steve, that he understands the danger he is in.

And he _hates it_.

“I didn’t choose this!” Steve yells, taking a step back, wings hitting the pots on the counter and sending them crashing with a loud noise.

“None of us did!” Bucky screams back, the little composure he had left cracking. “We didn’t choose to be picked off like flies and killed because of humans’ _vanity_. We didn’t choose to watch our friends and family get slaughtered. We didn’t want _any of it_!”

Steve knows he’s watching Bucky break in front of him, and that there is nothing he can do. “Bucky…”

Bucky shakes his head, closing his eyes as his expression twists back to nothing, emotionless and cold — a mask. He throws his half-eaten pear on the trash, and makes his way to the back door. He stops when he opens it, flecks of snow getting inside, and says, “Don’t leave. Please,” before he is gone.

Steve stares at the snowflakes on the kitchen floor, melting into droplets of water, and doesn’t know what to do.

 

**

 

Steve is in bed when Bucky finally decides to come back. The blankets are pulled to his chest, one of the books he found on Bucky’s shelf balanced against his knees. It’s after dark, only the lamp by Steve’s side illuminating the room, casting a yellow glow.

They’ve been sharing Bucky’s bedroom since he rescued Steve, as the cabin is small and the couch isn’t comfortable enough to accommodate someone with wings for long periods of time. Steve had been too tired to feel awkward about it during the first few days, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. After, he found out he didn’t care. The bed is big for both of them to sleep well without touching too much, and the warmth of Bucky’s body feels good next to his.

Steve marks his place on the book by folding the edge of the page, hoping Bucky doesn’t mind. He listens carefully — and his hearing, he’s noticed, is a lot better than when he was a human — as Bucky moves around, almost completely silent, only the flutter of wings giving him away.

Bucky doesn’t say anything when he stops at the door to his bedroom, the lamp light casting shadows against him, making the sharpness of his muscles more pronounced. He stares at Steve, eyes blue and cold and distant, hands hanging limply at his sides.

Steve takes a deep breath, and decides to be brave. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s reaction is to blink, only once, before he steps forward. He gingerly sits down on his bed, wings brushing Steve’s legs over the blanket. “I’m sorry, too,” he says, and Steve knows those words don’t come easy to him. “I’ve seen a lot of us die, since I fell.”

Steve puts the book down, hand finding Bucky’s and tangling their fingers together. “I’m sorry,” he says again, because it is all he can offer.

Bucky nods, squeezing Steve’s fingers against his own. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he admits through a hushed whisper, making Steve’s heart tug in his chest. “I don’t want to go through it again.”

Steve pulls in a harsh breath, pain making it hard for him to breathe. He can’t imagine the horrors Bucky has witnessed, even though he knows the stories. He could always empathize, and he could always rage, but it is hard for him to reconcile that with his own history. It strikes him how privileged he was, and how unaware he was, how selfish, until the problem turned out to be his own.

“I didn’t think…” Steve trails off, because that is the root of the problem. He didn’t think, because he has never had to live with this.

Angel deaths aren’t as common now as they were a few decades, centuries ago. There are very few of them left, and Steve suspects most of them are in hiding like Bucky, in a far off piece of land too dangerous for humans to reach and touch, to conquer and destroy.

That does not mean they don’t happen.

Just because Steve has never seen an execution, it does not mean they have ceased to occur.

Steve knows he has a decision to make, once again. He also knows he has a lot to learn, and a lot to come terms with about his new existence. There are dangers out there he doesn’t know about, and doesn’t know how to face.

It was naive of him, to think he could ever go back.

Not that he meant to do that, when he asked Bucky about home. Something he suspects was not clear when he opened his mouth this morning.

“When I asked about my place,” Steve starts, staring down at their hands, pale skin against pale skin, “I didn’t mean go back forever.”

Bucky blinks slowly, tilting his head to the side as his eyes meet Steve’s. “What did you mean?”

“I meant go back for some of my things,” Steve answers, voice low and deep. “There are a few heirlooms I want to have with me, things my Ma left me. My art supplies, some books.”

“Books,” Bucky repeats, and Steve has been around him long enough to recognize the spark of interest in his tone.

Steve’s lips twitch, just a minute thing, a barely there smile. “Books. And some clothes as well. Because, no offense, as much as I like being warm, I’m kind of tired of sharing your clothes.”

“You want your own things,” Bucky says, licking his lips, “here.”

Steve shrugs, glancing at Bucky from under his lashes. “It’s where I’m staying for the foreseeable future, right? At least until we find me a safe place of my own.”

Bucky’s gaze is intense and unflinching, almost as if he’s staring through Steve. Whatever he sees, it makes his cold expression warm, the tightness around his mouth softening. “Yeah,” he says. “You are.”


	3. Home

“We’ll leave at night,” Bucky tells him a few days later, once Steve’s gotten proficient at walking around and moving his wings. “We’re safer in the darkness.”

“I can’t fly,” Steve blurts out, one of Bucky’s books dropping from his slack grip and falling to the floor with a thud.

“You can fly,” Bucky corrects him, picking up the book. “You just don’t know how.”

Steve makes a little annoyed sound in the back of his throat, scowling at Bucky. “How do you expect me to learn in an afternoon? It took me _weeks_ to be able to hold my balance and not drag everything around me to the floor.”

“I didn’t say you’d be doing any of the flying,” Bucky comments, flopping down on one of the armchairs, wings draped over it. He looks lazy, lips curving into a smile, like he’s enjoying Steve’s frustration.

“What? Then how do you expect me to—”

Bucky’s smile deepens, transforming his face and taking Steve’s breath away. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, and Steve knows he’s not going to like whatever Bucky is about to say.

“I don’t expect you to fly,” Bucky says, index finger tracing circles over his flannel clad knee. “I just expect you to hold on to me when I do.”

Steve gapes, torn between outrage and embarrassment. He can’t seem to form words, sputtering as Bucky keeps looking at him, his smile in place and showing just how beautiful he is.

“You,” is what Steve settles with, a small little word that carries everything he’s feeling.

“Me,” Bucky sing-songs, and he looks so young and carefree for a second that Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself.

So Steve sighs, resigned to his fate, and tries not to think of how, in a few short hours, he’ll be plastered to Bucky’s side as they fly through the night. “I’ll make a list.”

 

**

 

Steve dresses in the same pair of clothes he was wearing when Bucky first brought him to the cabin, feeling both comforted and a little unsettled as he puts them on. They had to make some modifications to his shirt and sweater, opening a slit at the back to accommodate his wings. It just shows Steve how different he is now, even though he still feels mostly the same.

“I’m not going to be cold, am I?” he asks Bucky as he puts on a borrowed pair of snow boots, watching as Bucky pulls his long hair up in a ponytail.

“If you feel it, it will only be the memory of it,” Bucky says. “Cold doesn’t affect us like it does others.”

“Do we still freeze?” Steve asks, curious despite himself.

“We do,” Bucky answers, short and not welcoming more questions.

Steve rips the sheet of paper from one of Bucky’s notebooks where he wrote down his list, folds it, and puts it in his pocket. There aren’t a lot of items on it, as he doesn’t have a lot of things he wishes to keep, but what is there he hopes he can bring back with him.

Bucky disappears into the bedroom for a few minutes, in which Steve can hear doors opening and closing and things being dragged on the floor. Bucky comes back with an empty bag in hand, throwing it on the floor by Steve’s feet.

“Will this be enough?”

Steve stares down at the bag and nods. “Yeah. I don’t have a lot of things.”

Bucky instructs Steve to slip the bag over his shoulder, careful of his wings. It will be easy enough for Steve to fill it when he gets back to his cabin, and Bucky assures him the added weight won’t be a problem on their trip back to the woods.

“You’ve yet to learn how strong we are,” Bucky says, bumping his shoulder against Steve’s as they step outside. “I could fly with two of you strapped to my side and not break a sweat.”

Steve huffs, ignoring the rush of heat he feels at knowing what Bucky — what _they_ are capable of. “Let’s just go.”

“Not just yet.” Bucky shakes his head. “It hasn’t started snowing.”

Steve frowns. “How do you know it will?”

Bucky glances up at the night sky, clear and full of stars, and smiles faintly. “Because I asked for a little help.”

Before Steve can open his mouth, a gust of wing makes his wings flutter, pushing his hair away from his face. A second later and snow starts falling, covering more of the ground and the trees that surround them.

“That’s our cue.” Bucky turns to Steve, opening his arms. “C’mon.”

Steve swallows, stomach flipping. They’ve talked about how they’re meant to do this, but it still does not make it easier for Steve.

He knows his cheeks are dusted pink when he steps into Bucky’s space, their gazes meeting for a second. He sees a flash of something in Bucky’s eyes, gone before he can process it, replaced by the coldness that Steve is so familiar with.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, and then gives a little jump so his legs can go around Bucky’s waist. Bucky, for his turn, holds on to him, arms around Steve’s middle, tight and secure.

Blood rushes hot to Steve’s cheeks, his heart beating wildly in his chest. It shames him not being able to do this by himself, to use his own wings and fly to where he wants to go. He doesn’t like relying on Bucky for this, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice.

“Okay?” Bucky murmurs, breath ghosting over Steve’s ear.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, voice cracking. He clears his throat, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “You’re not going to drop me, are you?”

There’s a bit of silence, only broken by the small laugh Bucky lets out. “I make no promises,” he says, and then opens his wings and flies.

 

**

 

Being in the air is like nothing else Steve has ever experienced.

The rush of wind is cold and harsh against his face, freeing and refreshing in a way he never thought possible. The view steals the breath from his lungs, thicks trees on the ground below him turning white as the heavy snow falls, painting the world white. Above him, there are stars and the moonlight, illuminating their path.

For a split second, Steve wishes for a blank canvas and paints, all so he can immortalize this moment right then, as he flies through the skies for the first time.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Bucky asks him, a smile in his voice.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out, fingers clutching at the fabric of Bucky’s shirt, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. “It’s incredible.”

“It’ll be even better when you’re using your own wings,” Bucky promises, one of his hands sliding up to rest between Steve’s shoulder blades, cradling him close.

“Can you teach me soon?” Steve asks, not caring about how eager he sounds, just wanting to fall headlong into this new experience, this new opportunity he’s been given.

There is beauty to be found in his new self, Steve realizes, eyes catching on his and Bucky’s wings as they glint under the moon, only making the view even more gorgeous.

“Yes,” Bucky murmurs, pressing his temple lightly against Steve’s before pulling back. “If you think I’m going to keep carrying your ass around, you’re wrong.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pinching the back of Bucky’s neck, grinning when it makes him shudder. “Just don’t drop me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It takes them almost an hour before Steve finally recognizes a few patches of familiar ground, which just shows him how secluded Bucky’s home really is. Bucky truly is in hiding, deep in the mountain forest, tucked away from most of civilization.

And here Steve is, bringing him right to the edges of it.

“What is it?” Bucky asks when Steve goes tense, his nails digging into Bucky’s back.

“Are we safe?”

Bucky lets out a breath, thumb rubbing circles against Steve’s back, every so often brushing the base of his right wing.

“We are,” Bucky says. “The tree lines are too thick for anyone to see us flying above it, and with this amount of snow, no one will be looking.”

“You said you asked for snow…”

“I did,” Bucky admits, and when sensing Steve’s confusing, he adds, “There are a lot of things you don’t know.”

Steve scowls. “No shit.”

Bucky lets out a sharp laugh, grip slacking for a second, which makes Steve tense again and wrap himself more tightly around Bucky.

“What the fuck?” Steve hisses, his cheek pressed against Bucky’s smooth skin.

“Sorry,” Bucky apologizes, still laughing a little. “Sorry, just… That was very well said.”

“Yeah, well. Fuck off.”

Bucky laughs again, and Steve can feel it against his chest, as they are pressed to close together Steve can’t really tell where he ends and Bucky begins.

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” Bucky swears, voice sending shivers down Steve’s spine. “But you can’t expect me to pack thousands of years of history into the little time we’ve had together.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, stomach in knots.

Bucky is right. Thousands of years of history cannot be taught in a little over two weeks.

But now Steve realizes that, as he is now, he has thousands of years to learn.

 

**

 

Something loosens inside Steve’s chest when he catches sight of his cabin. Some last lingering knot of tension and worry leaves him, a weight lifted off his shoulders. Steve sways once his feet hit the ground and he lets go of Bucky, relief so big it almost knocks him on his knees.

“You okay?” Bucky asks him, hand gripping Steve’s elbow, keeping him upright.

Steve nods, throat tight and eyes wet. It was not until this moment that he realized how important this was for him: to come back, at least once, to gather his things and say goodbye to life as he once knew.

“Let’s go.”

Bucky walks behind him, their feet leaving footprints on the ground which are quickly covered by the snow that keeps falling, fluffy and white. Steve stops at the door to his cabin, the one place he thought could be home after his mother’s passing and that now feels like anything but that.

Inside, the air is stale and cold, the place undisturbed, just as Steve left it a couple of weeks ago. It’s a relief to know no one has come looking for him, although he can’t help the pang of sadness he feels at knowing there is no one alive to concern themselves with his well-being.

Bucky shifts by his side, his wing pressing against Steve’s.

Well, aside from Bucky, Steve supposes.

They walk inside accompanied by the covers of darkness, their eyes adjusting to the night. It is another thing to remind Steve how different he is now, like the way his hearing is more accurate, his muscles stronger, his body mostly unaffected by the cold.

Steve walks straight to his bedroom, a hurt sound escaping him when he grabs the picture on his nightstand. His mother stares back at him, smiling and happy and alive. He’s missed her face more than he’s realized, these weeks he’s spent away from this place. He traces the edges of the frame with his fingers before putting the picture away in his bag, the first item he wants to bring home.

“Can I help?”

Steve turns to Bucky, watching as he stands awkwardly by the door to the bedroom, fingers curling and uncurling into his palms.

“Yes,” Steve says, surprised at the roughness of his own voice.

Together, they make quick work of the things Steve wishes to bring back with him. They gather clothes and books and photo albums, as well as some of Steve’s art supplies.

“What you can’t take with you, but need,” Bucky glances to the easel resting near one of the windows, “I can get for you.”

“How?” Steve asks, when he knows Bucky doesn’t venture into town.

Bucky smiles at him, just a quirk of his lips. “That’s a secret you’ll learn soon enough.”

Steve scrunches up his nose in annoyance, but bites back the words he wants to say. They have a job to do, and stopping to argue isn’t in their best interests. Soon enough, they have everything they came for, Steve’s heart feeling lighter than it has been in a while.

Steve does not bother to leave a note or contact anyone. He knows someone will come knocking soon enough, when he doesn’t show up in town at the end of the month to get supplies. People will come over to find an empty cabin, with rotten food in the fridge and a few things missing, and no sign of Steve at all. They will think he is just another person to fall victim to something lurking behind the tree lines, gone and with no hope of saving.

With that, Steve takes one final look around the cabin, and says his goodbyes.

 

**

 

Bucky’s cabin, with Steve’s things in it, feels unmistakably like home.

Steve is not ready for it, when he starts putting away his clothes in one of the drawers Bucky cleaned out for him. He does not realize it, when his books find their way to Bucky’s shelves, paperback resting against paperback spines aligned. He misses it, when Bucky lays out his art supplies carefully on top of a desk by one of the living room windows, fingers coming away with dry flecks of paint stuck to his skin.

Everything together, though, once they are done with the last of Steve’s belongings, hits Steve straight in the chest.

It steals his breath away, how comfortable he feels seeing little pieces of himself around the place. It is like another puzzle piece fitting together into the shape of Steve’s unimaginable dreams, giving him something he did not know to wish for.

“Do you like it?” Bucky asks him, wings brushing against Steve’s own.

Steve looks at him, finding uncertainty in Bucky’s usually blank gaze. It means something to him as well, Steve realizes, to have Steve here, sharing his space.

“I love it,” Steve tells him, the truth of it resting between them, and making Bucky smile.

 

**

 

“Tell me the secret.”

They are lying on a pile of blankets and pillows on the living room floor, right by the hot flames of the fireplace, a bowl of popcorn resting between their bodies. Steve is on his stomach, head resting on his folded arms, wings lazy against his back. It is snowing outside, as it has been for some time, the snowflakes gathering against the windowsill and sticking to the glass.

Bucky smiles the ghost of a smile, eyelashes casting shadows against his sharp cheekbones. “There are a lot of secrets. You’re gonna have to be more specific.” Steve throws a corn at him, snickering when it hits Bucky right in the nose. “Rude,” he murmurs, glaring at Steve, all mock anger.

“About the snow,” Steve specifies anyway, rolling on his side and propping himself up on an elbow.

“The snow,” Bucky repeats, stretching on his back, one hand under his head while the other rests on his stomach, playing with the hem of his shirt.

Steve gets distracted watching him, especially when Bucky’s fidgeting leads to his shirt riding up, revealing a sliver of pale skin and the light dusting of hair that goes from his navel down to—

“Snow,” Steve says out loud, breaking himself out of that train of thought. When he can feel the tips of his ears flushing, he pretends it is because of the fire heat. “You said you asked for it.”

“I did. And Natasha was kind enough to say yes.”

Steve goes still, at the same time his wings twitch in surprise, one of them hitting the popcorn bowl and almost tipping it over the blankets. Bucky puts the bowl on his side without a word, away from Steve’s clumsy wings.

“Who’s Natasha?” Steve asks, stomach turning into knots.

He’s not naive enough to think Bucky has been by himself all of these years, but he never actually gave much thought to whom might have shared his company. He knows Bucky needs to hide, but that is only from humans. Now that he considers it, it is obvious Bucky must have someone beside Steve. It was silly of him, selfish, to think otherwise.

“She’s my oldest friend,” Bucky tells him, gaze focused on Steve, barely there smile still on his lips. “My best friend, although she’ll deny it if you ask her.”

Steve wonders if that is because she wants to protect him, or because of something else. “Is she human?”

Bucky’s smile widens, showing a row of white teeth. “As much as I am.”

That means not at all.

“What is she?” Steve asks, voice almost a whisper.

“That,” Bucky says, the tip of his left wings brushing against Steve’s cheek, “you’ll have to ask her yourself.”

Steve blinks, mouth parting in surprise. “I’m meeting her?”

“That’s the plan. But only _after_ you learn how to fly.”

Excitement rushes through Steve at the thought of flying, just like it always does. “And when will that be?”

Bucky glances out the window, cold white snow all that they can see. “When it stops snowing.”

“I shouldn’t hold my breath, then,” Steve sighs, rolling back on his stomach, cheek smooshed against his forearm.

“You should save it,” Bucky answers, sticking his hand into the popcorn bowl and popping a few into his mouth. “You’ll definitely need it once we start flying lessons.”

Steve scowls, worry gnawing at his gut.

At least until Bucky throws a popcorn at him, hitting him straight on the nose.


	4. Flying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter this time, but i promise it's worth it :P

It is another two weeks before Bucky deems the weather good enough for them to start the flying lessons. The ground is still covered with snow, and the wind would most certainly chill Steve to the bone if he was still human, but when Steve points that out to Bucky, he merely shrugs.

“The wind will help,” Bucky argues, tying his hair up in a ponytail.

Steve frowns, nodding to himself. “That makes sense, I guess.”

“I think I know what I’m talking about,” Bucky says, wings aflutter, and then adds. “Plus, the snow will cushion your fall.”

Steve sputters, the sound drawn out by that of Bucky’s laughter, loud and bright echoing between them.

 

**

 

“You want me to do _what_?”

They're standing at the top of a tall hill, the fresh snow disturbed by their footprints, the chilled wind making Steve's eyes water. The view is beautiful up there, blue skies and trees for miles, blue and green standing out against the white of snow.

Steve can't appreciate the sight, though, as he is too busy gaping at Bucky, hands curling into fists at his sides, dread making his stomach churn.

“I want you to jump,” Bucky repeats, crossing his arms over his chest, muscles rippling under the black sweater he's wearing.

“Jump,” Steve says, still having a hard time grasping the concept in this particular case.

“Yes.”

“How is that going to help me learn how to fly?” Steve asks, and a second later the answer comes to him. “I’m a baby bird in this scenario, aren't I?”

Bucky smiles, big and amused, his wings glinting under the low sun. “You're not as dumb as you look.”

Steve scoffs, stomach in knots as he glances at the unfolding hill below him. “I'll fall,” he says, already envisioning broken bones and blood and sharp pain.

“You will. But you won't get hurt,” Bucky says, and at Steve's dubious look he adds, “much. Angels heal faster than humans do.”

“That's good to know,” Steve says dryly, the words doing almost nothing to comfort him. “Will this really work?”

“How do you think I learned?”

Steve blinks, turning his surprised gaze to Bucky. He never really thought about it before. In fact, he has a hard time picturing Bucky not existing as he is now: full grown and imposing. He must have been a child so long ago, before Steve was born, before the world was as it is now, that he must have a hard time remembering what it was like.

The image of Bucky as a child brings a smile to Steve's lips, as it is. A small boy with brown curls and bright blue eyes toddling around, his little blue wings fluttering behind him. It is almost enough to make Steve coo, and then feel horrified when he remembers what they're talking about.

“Your mother pushed you down a hill?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No,” he says, a faint smile on his lips, betrayed by the sadness in his eyes. “She pushed me off a cloud. I had to learn to flap my wings if I didn't want to end up splattered on the ground.”

Steve makes a little hurt sound in the back of his throat, which is quickly dismissed by a flick of Bucky's hand. “Is that how you all learn?” Steve asks, curious despite himself.

“More or less,” Bucky answers. “I obviously can't push you off a cloud, so I have to make do.”

“So you brought me here.” Steve looks down the hill again, his wings gathering close to his body in an attempt to block the chilly wind. He knows he has to do this, but that does not make him any less afraid.

“Hey,” Bucky says, drawing closer, obviously sensing Steve's distress. “We don't have to do this today. I can fly us back home, if you want me to.”

Steve shakes his head, tilting his chin up in determination. He has never been one to run from difficult tasks, and this will not be when he starts. “I want to do this,” he assures Bucky, taking a deep calming breath. “Just let me have a few minutes.”

Bucky does, staying close to Steve, their wings touching every time the winds shifts, making shivers run down Steve's spine. It is quiet around them, only the sounds of their breathing to be heard. Steve swallows, willing himself to be brave enough to do this, to find the kind of courage that so often gets him into trouble and use it in his favor.

It takes him some time, in which Steve finds out he's no more ready than he was before to do what Bucky told him to. And that settles him, somewhat, finding comfort in his fear and knowing he can do little to change it, just embrace it and go ahead anyway.

“I'll be here,” Bucky promises, those whispered words hardening Steve's resolved. “Every step of the way, I'll be here.”

Steve turns to look at Bucky, his eyes so clear and bright under the sun, pink lips curved into an encouraging smile, a few strands of coming loose from his ponytail and framing his face.

“Every step of the way,” Steve vows back.

When he jumps, it is with the sight of Bucky's smiling face in his thoughts.

 

**

 

Steve spreads his wings, muscles aching with effort, easing his descent to the ground. The few minutes he's on the air are exhilarating, freeing in a way Steve's never experienced before, not even when Bucky holds him in his arms as they fly.

Which means it is a huge disappointment when it all comes to an end.

And Steve hates to say it, but Bucky was right: the snow does cushion his fall.

 

**

 

Flying takes effort.

It takes sweat and blood and, on one memorable occasion, tears of frustration. It is the hardest Steve has ever worked at anything, and it almost brings him to his knees a few times.

It most certainly brings him to fall on his ass on the ground, countless times, the cold snow clinging to his hair and face and clothes. It is only Bucky’s hands on his cheeks, his shoulders, his waist, helping him up and wiping away at the mess that offers some kind of comfort to him, something for him to hold on to.

Things do get better when Steve learns to flap his wings to break the fall, although not by much. Instead of falling head first to the ground, this just means he bumps into trees and gets tangled with branches, the rough bark cutting at his skin, tearing his clothes, and making him bleed.

Steve puts to test his accelerated angel healing, where he can get a cut or bruise during one flying attempt, and they can be healed during the time it takes him to climb to the top of the hill again. It still clings to him, though, the hurts and the failure.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Bucky murmurs as he wipes Steve’s tears away with the sleeve of his sweater, thumb gently tracing at a pink line on Steve’s cheek where a moment ago there was a cut. “This isn’t an easy thing to learn.”

“You learned when you were a baby,” Steve argues, snappish and tired, pointedly avoiding Bucky’s gaze as he stares at ground.

“I’d been an angel for over a year when my mom pushed me,” Bucky tells him, hands cupping Steve’s cheeks and tilting his face up. “And I was born with my wings. You’ve only had yours for a couple of months. You’re doing a lot better than you think you are.”

Steve sniffs, hating the tears and himself, and a little bit of Bucky’s kindness, too. “Not good enough.”

“Yes, you are,” Bucky says vehemently, tone breaking no argument, eyes alight and daring Steve to argue. “You’re more than good enough, do you hear me? There is not one part of you that’s lacking, Steve. Not one.”

Steve’s heart clenches in his chest, breath rushing out of him, his wings reaching out despite himself to touch Bucky’s own. It sends warmth through him, deep and encompassing, to know that he is not alone, to know that he has Bucky and that to Bucky he is more than enough.

So with determination burning anew, Steve wraps his hands around Bucky’s wrists, squeezing them once before letting go, and stands up to try again.

 

**

 

It takes Steve weeks.

Every time he doubts himself, he thinks back to Bucky’s words, envisioning the fire in his eyes and the certainty in which he spoke to Steve. They help him stay motivated, not wanting to prove Bucky wrong by giving up when things are tough.

Steve perseveres, and in the end, he spreads his wings and flies.

 

**

 

It is terrifying, Steve’s first successful flight.

It is also better than Steve imagined it would be, freeing and wonderful and unforgettable. It feels like home, the wind rushing beneath his wings, tickling his feathers, the thick snow-covered trees beneath him, the blue sky tinged with pink and purple as the sun sets in front of his eyes.

Steve can’t hear anything but the frantic beat of his own heart, his face breaking into a smile as he stays up in the air. That smile turns into a laugh when he dips sideways, changing directions as he flies, wings moving beside him.

It is pure happiness, Steve thinks, to be on top of the world.

Bucky watches him from the hill, smile so bright Steve can see it from the sky. So of course Steve changes course, flying back to Bucky, soul vibrating and heart singing in bliss.

The descent is fast, Steve gaining momentum as he prepares himself to land. Only then does he realize he has no idea how to do it, how to stop, a flash of panic hitting him in the chest before he reminds himself of Bucky’s words.

They’re grounding and help Steve calm down, even as he prepares himself to hit the ground full force.

But that is not what happens.

Instead of meeting the unforgiving top of the hill, Steve crashes into straight into Bucky. They topple backwards together, in a tangle of limbs, Bucky’s wings wrapping themselves around their bodies, cocooning Steve in warmth.

Steve can hear Bucky laughing against his ear as they skid to a stop, loud and free and filled with as much happiness as Steve is feeling. All Steve can do is join in, his arms wrapped around Bucky’s waist, hugging him close. When he finally lifts his head up to look down at Bucky, it is to find him close, their noses bumping together, Bucky’s breath ghosting over his lips.

The laughter stops.

And in the silence of the hills, as they stare at each other, Steve leans in and kisses him.


	5. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** for mentions of angel deaths, a little blood, and relationship negotiations :P

Steve and Bucky’s first kiss was a promise.

It was the beginning of something between them, something that changed as soon as their lips touched and Steve grew wings.

This kiss is not the same, but it is not very different at all.

 

**

 

When Steve's lips touch Bucky's for the second time, it is like the entire world stops. There, cocooned in between Bucky's wings as they lie in the snow, nothing else exists.

Just both of them, together, wrapped around each other.

And then the world speeds up again, like the beat of Steve’s heart, when Bucky’s arms tighten around him, pulling him closer as Bucky kisses him back, slow and sure and like he’s been waiting for this since the moment Steve got his wings.

Bucky tastes sweet, his lips pliant and hot under Steve’s own, letting Steve set the pace. Steve can Bucky feel smiling, though, when he nips at Bucky’s bottom lip, soothing the hurt with his tongue, right before he claims Bucky’s mouth again in a deep searing kiss.

Their wings are moving together, brushing against each other in what Steve likes to think is a kiss of their own. It makes him shiver, sending sparks of pleasure down his spine, especially when Bucky’s fingers thread through the feathers at the base, holding on.

It is the happiest Steve’s ever felt, and he never wants it to stop.

 

**

 

Steve and Bucky’s second kiss is a promise.

It is the beginning of something new between them, something that had changed as soon as their lips touched for that first time and Steve grew wings.

This kiss is not the same as their first kiss, but it is just as important.

 

**

 

“Hi,” Steve whispers when he finally brings himself to stop kissing Bucky, pulling back an inch so they can stare at each other.

Bucky is art underneath him, snowflakes caught in his hair. His lips are plump and red, cheeks flushed and eyes glinting, his expression soft and lazy and pleased. “Hey.”

“There’s snow in your hair,” Steve says, for a lack of words to express how happy he feels.

It is another puzzle piece slotting into place for Steve: first his wings, then his home, flying for the first time, and now Bucky.

It shows Steve he made the right choice when he decided to stay, to abandon the unfulfilling and meaningless life he had before, after his mother died and left him all alone. The loneliness he felt back then isn’t as present now, just a small ache in his breastbone; and the sadness, while still there, does not make him feel like he’s drowning, crushed under the overwhelming pressure of it.

It is not the answer to all of his problems, as no one can deal with this but Steve himself, but it helps. It makes it easier for him to breathe again, knowing he has somewhere he belongs.

“And it’s making my ass numb, but you don’t hear me complaining,” Bucky answers, waggling his eyebrows.

Steve laughs, ducking his head and resting their foreheads together. He can feel Bucky’s hot breath against his lips, Bucky’s hands sliding up and down his back, sometimes brushing the base of his wings.

“I flew,” Steve whispers, packing all of the awe and happiness he feels into those two little words.

“I told you you could do it,” Bucky murmurs, dropping a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth.

Steve, through no fault of him own, _giggles_. He can’t help it, the combination of _finally_ being able to use his wings for what they’re meant to and kissing Bucky again makes him feel like he’s floating.

“You did,” Steve breathes out, tilting his head down for a sweet kiss. “Thank you for everything.”

Bucky tenses under him, going stock still in that way it means he’s holding himself back. Steve lifts his head up and frowns down at Bucky, stomach turning into knots when he sees the happiness evident in Bucky’s expression just a few seconds before all but gone, a cold mask in its place.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, bringing a hand up to cup Bucky’s cheek, pain slicing through him when Bucky flinches back.

“You don’t have to do this,” Bucky tells him, letting go of Steve and pushing him away, both of them now sitting on the cold snow, no longer touching.

“Do what?” Steve asks, hands digging into the ground so he doesn’t reach out to touch Bucky again.

No matter how much he wants to.

“ _This_ ,” Bucky says, gesturing between them. “You don’t have to pay me back for— You don’t have to do anything because you think you _owe_ it to—”

“I don’t,” Steve answers, voice harsh and cutting. It shuts Bucky up, and Steve cautiously crawls closer to him, until they’re kneeling one in front of the other, knees touching. “I didn’t kiss you because I thought I had to. I did it because I wanted to. Still want to,” he admits, licking his lips. Bucky watches his with blue-grey eyes, a small flicker of hope behind his gaze. “I know you don’t expect anything from me. I know you don’t even expect me to stay.”

Bucky lets out a harsh breath, a little bit of tension gone from his shoulders. “No one deserves to be trapped someplace they don’t want to be.”

Steve nods, knowing Bucky does not mean just him. That is the curse of many angels, trapped inside glass cases, covered with cement, because someone decided angels owed their beauty to the world.

“I like it here, so far.” Steve tentatively lays a hand on Bucky’s thigh, feeling the wet fabric under his palm. “I know I might not stay here forever, but I want to stay for now.”

“You don’t want to bond,” Bucky says, and he doesn’t sound upset.

“I know there’s the potential for it, but…,” Steve trails off, swallowing around a lump in his throat. “I like you and I want to spend time with you, but I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. Not when I’m still…”

“So young?” Bucky offers, lips quirking up.

Steve wrinkles his nose. “I was going to say _new_. I’m in my thirties, I’m not young.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I won’t tell you how old _I_ am, then.”

Steve is not sure he wants to know. He is aware Bucky is probably as old as the oldest trees in the forest, but he does not need a number.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Steve says after a few beats of silence, touch moving from Bucky’s leg to take one of his hands, “any of this, if you don’t want to. It’ll change things for both of us. I shouldn’t be the only one to choose.”

Bucky’s grip tightens around Steve’s hand for a second, before it goes loose again. “Things changed the minute I saved your ass from that mermaid.”

“I know.”

Steve does not regret it, though, not for one second.

“Can we talk about this at home?” Bucky asks, and Steve can’t help the way his stomach twists with nerves.

“Sure,” he says, heart in his throat, wondering where the happiness he felt not ten minutes before has gone.

 

**

 

Flying clears Steve’s head.

It settles him, grounds him like Bucky’s words of encouragement did. He finds it impossible to stay nervous when up in the air, the wind on his face, the night view so beautiful Steve’s fingers itch for a pencil.

Bucky is by his side, wings glinting as they move, the sharp angles of his face illuminated by the moonlight.

Steve is so busy staring he doesn’t notice the tree in his path.

 

**

 

“You’re an idiot.”

Steve sucks in a breath as Bucky runs a wet cloth down the side of his neck, cleaning away the blood there. Steve’s injury has already healed, although his clothes remain dirty and blood coats parts of his skin.

“Couldn’t you have warmed that up first?” Steve grumbles.

“Sure I could have,” Bucky drawls, raising an eyebrow at Steve, “but that’s what you get for being an idiot. You have to pay attention to where you’re going.”

“I got distracted,” Steve mumbles, sullen.

Bucky snorts. “You don’t say.”

Steve bats Bucky’s hand away, grabbing the cloth and standing up. He walks to the little makeshift bathroom Bucky has, using the mirror on top of the sink to see where the blood is as he starts cleaning himself up. He hears Bucky move around in the bedroom, undoubtedly finding them both fresh pairs of clothes.

Steve throws the cloth in the sink once he’s done, taking a deep breath and staring at his reflection. He doesn’t look that different from what he did before, with the exception of the wings. His nose is still crooked, eyes still blue, hair still the color of sunshine and bangs falling on his forehead.

He is still himself, despite being someone entirely new.

When he leaves the bathroom, he finds a pair of sweats and one of his old sweaters on the bed waiting for him. The sweater, like all of Steve’s other tops, now has a slit on the back to accommodate his wings.

Steve takes him time dressing himself, preparing for the conversation him and Bucky are about to have. He doesn’t want to think about Bucky’s silence until now, nor about his request for them to discuss their…

Relationship doesn’t seem to be the right word, but it is the only one that comes to Steve’s mind.

Bucky is in the living room, sprawled on the couch, his hair damp and falling around his shoulders. There’s a fire going, casting an orange glow around the room, making it cozy and warm and just how Steve likes it.

Steve hesitates at the door, which prompts Bucky to look at him, eyes shining. He reaches a hand, palm up, waiting for Steve to make a move.

It is the easiest thing in the world for Steve to lay his hand on top of Bucky’s, fingers grazing over his pulse point as Bucky tugs him closer. Steve goes, not fighting when Bucky pushes him down on the couch, their legs tangling together, still holding on.

“I’ve been alive for a very long time,” Bucky says, thumb tracing Steve’s knuckles, his gaze focused on the fire. “And in that time, I’ve lost almost everyone I’ve ever loved.”

Steve makes a little hurt sound in the back of his throat, raising Bucky’s hand to his lips, placing a comforting kiss to his skin. He understands better than Bucky might think, what it is like to be alone in the world.

“The few of us who managed to survive live like I do,” Bucky continues, “hidden away somewhere, counting on the generosity of other non-humans to survive.”

Understanding dawns when Steve hears those words. He knows of the creatures that live in the forest and beyond it, making their homes deep in the mountains. He was warned about them when he bought his cabin — that despite being away from town, Steve would not be alone.

It makes sense they would stick together, protect their own, even those who are not in danger by humans like angels have been for centuries. They would — and they do, Steve realizes — help Bucky stay hidden, providing him with what he needs to live a quiet life. That is what Bucky meant when he said he could get Steve whatever things he needed: by asking others for help.

“You understand a little bit more now, don’t you?” Bucky asks him, tilting his head so he can look at Steve.

“That’s one of the secrets, isn’t it?” Steve looks at him, breathing in deep. “The faeries, the shifters, the others… they help you. They try to keep you safe.”

Bucky’s smile, when it comes, has not a trace of humor in it. “They’re kind enough to do so, although I think most of them only do it because they feel guilty. Still, it helps having food in the house and whatever other supplies I might need. Some of them, I’d even consider friends.”

“Like Natasha?”

“There is no one quite like her in these mountains, but yes.” Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand, just once. “You’ll meet them soon enough, when you can fly without crashing into things.”

Steve frowns, and then he has to fight back a smile when Bucky uses his free hand to poke him in the stomach. “Shuddup.”

“You know,” Bucky murmurs, hand now resting flat on Steve’s stomach, slowly sliding up his chest until Bucky can press his palm right over Steve’s heart. “Until you, I hadn’t seen another angel in seventy years.”

“Bucky,” Steve breathes out, wanting to reach out and pull Bucky into his arms. He doesn’t, though, because it is clear Bucky is going somewhere with this, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt.

“I need you to understand,” Bucky swallows, nails digging a little into Steve’s chest, “that if we do this, it is not because of _what_ you are. It is not because you’re the first person with wings to cross my path in almost a century. It is not because you’re _convenient_.”

Steve hadn’t even considered those points, but something inside of him relaxes at Bucky’s words. It would have come up eventually, and Steve is glad Bucky is addressing this now. He’s glad Bucky is putting all of his cards on the table, and making his feelings clear to Steve before they decide on what to do.

“It’s not for me, either,” Steve confesses, hand covering Bucky’s over his chest.

Bucky moves closer, their sides flush together. “If we do this,” he says, voice nothing more than a whispers, “it is because of who you _are_ , Steve, nothing else.”

“If?” Steve can’t help but ask, because he has no doubts he _wants_ this.

Bucky understands that, expression softening as he gives Steve a small amused smile. “When.”

“I know,” Steve says, bringing a hand up to cup Bucky’s cheek, thumb resting on the dimple in Bucky’s chin. “You should kiss me now.”

“Oh, should I?” Bucky raises an eyebrow, smile widening.

“You should.” Steve nods, serious as he can be when happiness courses through him. “I was the one who kissed you the other two times. I can’t be the only one doing all the wor—”

Their teeth clink together when Bucky surges up and kisses him, trying to shut him up. It works, because Steve can’t think of a word to say when Bucky’s mouth is hot and wet against his. All he can do is kiss back.


	6. Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings** for very brief mentions of angel killings and a child's murder. if you want to skip that, it's right after the last break. the section starts with _“Who was Bucky?”_ and ends with _At those words, Steve breaks._
> 
> take care of yourselves and happy reading <3

Things don’t change much after they kiss, but things are not the same at all.

They still share a bed, only at nights Steve curls up around Bucky’s back, his arm thrown over Bucky’s waist, nose buried in the feathers of Bucky’s wings.

Steve still practices using his wings to fly, although when he falls — which happens more and more rarely —, Bucky is there to kiss his hurts away.

They still lounge around on top of a pile of blankets on the living room floor, reading or talking quietly, but this time with added kisses when they get bored, trading soft touches, little by little getting to know each other’s bodies.

Things don’t change much, but the little they do, Steve loves with all of his heart.

 

**

 

“How do you feel,” Bucky starts, coming up behind Steve as he makes them lunch, arms wrapping around his waist, “about going somewhere today?”

Steve leans back against Bucky, shivering when he feels Bucky’s lips on his neck, placing butterfly kisses to his skin. “Anywhere in particular?”

“Yes,” Bucky answers, but doesn’t offer anything else.

Steve licks his lips, turning his head to the side, his nose brushing against Bucky’s cheek. Bucky stares back at him, face carefully blank, although Steve’s known him long enough to recognize that means he’s just trying not to look too eager.

Wherever Bucky wants to take him, it is somewhere important.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs, stealing a quick kiss and feeling Bucky’s lips transform into a smile under his own.

“We’ll leave after we eat,” Bucky tells him, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder when Steve goes back to stirring the sauce.

Steve can’t help but revel in the closeness of it, the domesticity. “You mean we’ll leave after you do the dishes,” he corrects Bucky, biting back a smile.

“Ugh,” Bucky complains, but after they’ve eaten and brushed their teeth, he does so without another word, dutifully cleaning up everything.

Steve rewards him with a kiss, mouth greedy against Bucky’s, sucking on his tongue and making him moan. Bucky follows him when Steve pulls back, starting another kiss of his own, his hands gripping at Steve’s hips, pulling him close.

“As much as I love this,” Bucky says against Steve’s mouth, lips red and cheeks flushed, his long hair tangled through Steve’s fingers, “we need to get going.”

Steve’s stomach flips at the world _‘love_ ’, but he pushes the feeling aside, placing one final kiss to the dimple on Bucky’s chin before stepping back. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“It’s a secret,” Bucky replies, grinning when Steve raises an eyebrow at him.

He doesn’t say anything else, though, and Steve does not ask.

Bucky looks almost giddy as they get ready to leave, wings fluttering behind him, feathers glinting in the sun. It makes something twist inside of Steve’s chest to see him like this, so obviously looking forward to something. Steve has a feeling it is not something that happens often, not anymore.

“Just follow me, okay?” Bucky instructs him, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s and brushing their lips together, right before he spreads his wings and takes off.

Steve does his best to follow him, now much better at flying than he used to be. His wings feel more like a part of himself than ever before, and it takes Steve surprisingly little effort to put them to use.

They fly in the direction of the mountains, the air turning colder the closer they get to it. It is the farthest Steve has ever gone, the place so far away not only from humans and their town, but also from his and Bucky’s home.

It is like an entirely new world, untouched and wild and free.

And cold, so very very cold.

Steve can feel snowflakes gather on his wings, having to shake them every once in a while to dislodge them. A few are caught in his hair, now damp and sticking to his forehead. His clothes are in the same state, and although Steve doesn’t feel the cold like he used to, he can’t help but feel discomfort as they weigh him down and glue to his skin.

“Please tell me there’s a change of clothes wherever we’re going,” Steve yells through the wind, making Bucky turn to him.

“I don’t know,” Bucky shouts back, eyes glinting, “You look kind of hot all wet and annoyed.”

Steve rolls his eyes, cheeks uncomfortably hot and stinging under the cold. He doesn’t have the chance to say something back, as Bucky gives a sudden dip, disappearing through the trees at the foot of the mountain. Steve follows, careful not to get his wings snagged against any branches. He trips a little when he lands, but successfully comes to a stop behind Bucky, shaking snow out of his eyes.

“Is this it?” Steve asks, looking around.

He can’t see anything aside from trees, snow, and the start of a path leading into the mountains. There are no sounds, the silence deep and unnerving, making Steve inch closer to Bucky, their wings touching.

Steve, so busy staring at the path stretching in front of him, doesn’t notice the woman stepping out from the side of the mountain, her steps silenced by the snow.

At least not until she says, “Does my home not impress you?”

 

**

 

Steve should have known.

He should have payed attention, when Bucky told him this place was a secret. He should have realized the importance of being here, in a place so far away from everything else. He should have figured it out, when snow and silence were all that was there to greet them.

Steve should have known.

 

**

 

“Hi, Nat.” Bucky grins at her, leaving Steve behind so he can come up and hug her.

Natasha is smaller than Seve thought she would be, delicate in a way he was not expecting. Her hair is fiery red, wavy and coming up to her chin, the contrast vibrant against the paleness of her skin and the white of the snow that surrounds them. She is wearing nothing but jeans and a black shirt, bare feet touching the snow, unaffected by the cold in a way that even Steve and Bucky are not.

There is nothing vulnerable about Natasha, Steve observes. Death lingers in her gaze, cold and harsh and unforgiving, just like the snowstorm Bucky asked for all those weeks ago.

“James,” Natasha says, lips curved up as she returns the hug, her eyes never leaving Steve’s. “I see you brought me a gift.”

Steve blinks at the use of the name _James_. He knows _Bucky_ is a name Bucky chose for himself, but it leaves him with an unpleasant feeling in his gut to not know why or what he was called before. Especially when Natasha clearly knows.

“That’s Steve,” Bucky says when he pulls back, his eyes flashing, “and he is mine.”

Steve ignores the way his stomach flips at Bucky’s words, lessening his unease. Although his wings give him away by spreading behind his back, almost like he’s preening. The reaction makes Natasha raise an eyebrow, while Bucky just grins, smug as ever.

“Uh, hi.” Steve waves, trying to push through his embarrassment. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Natasha’s amusement is almost palpable as he stares at him. “So polite. And I have to admit, no one has ever said it was nice to meet me before.”

Steve frowns, glancing at Bucky for help. Bucky just keeps smiling, like this is the best thing that’s happened to him in a while.

“I’m sorry people were rude to you, ma’am.”

Natasha laughs, the sound sharp and cold and piercing. “I like him,” she says, and turns to Bucky. “You should let me keep him.”

Bucky’s smile slips from his face, replaced by a scowl. “No. Steve isn’t yours to keep.”

“Uh, Steve is right here,” Steve interrupts them, wings twitching in indignation. “And I belong to myself. I’m staying with Bucky. With _James_.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to preen, then, chest puffing out as he turns to Natasha, an eyebrow arched as if to say _I told you so_. There is something in his eyes, though, a flash of guilt and worry, at the way Steve pronounces what he assumes to be Bucky’s given name.

“I can see why you like him,” Natasha tells Bucky, expression softening just a smidge. “I can tell why you didn’t let him drown when you should have.”

Steve tenses, cold slithering through him as Natasha turns her gaze on him, icy cold and unflinching. Snow starts falling, flakes freezing and sharp as knives as they touch Steve’s skin. The air around him goes uncomfortably cold, pressing into Steve, making it hard for him to breathe. Natasha is untouched by it all, pinning Steve in place with her gaze.

“That is _enough_ ,” Bucky’s command cuts through them at the same time he comes to stand in front of Steve, shielding him with his wings.

Steve chokes on a breath when air fills his lungs again, bringing a hand up so he can clutch at Bucky’s feathers, leaning into the warmth of him. Natasha stares at them, head tilted to the side, skin as white as ice.

“What are you?” Steve rasps out, looking at her from over Bucky’s shoulder.

“I’m as old as the world itself,” Natasha answers, offering them the ghost of a smile. “And I bring death everywhere I go.”

“You’re also rude,” Bucky snaps, scowling at her. “That was unnecessary. Steve’s one of us.”

“He’s more human than most,” Natasha replies, while Steve looks from Bucky to her and back again. “We help protect you, James, and I am your friend, but I’m also the one who protects all of us. A threat to us all is bigger than my love for you.”

Steve can feel Bucky’s muscles shift under his palm, coiled with tension. This is yet another piece of the puzzle presenting itself to Steve, adding another corner to the picture his life makes now that he’s gained his wings.

A very important piece, Steve can tell.

“What do you need from me?” Steve interrupts them, taking a step so he’s standing by Bucky’s side.

He ignores the way Bucky tries to shield him again, his attention focused solely on Natasha. He has no doubt she’s more than capable of freezing him on the spot, but he still braves on. He knows a little about the other beings living in the forest and near the mountains, and despite him being new at all of this, he doesn’t wish to make their lives more difficult. He doesn’t wish to put them in danger.

Even though a mermaid was almost the death of him.

“Steve, you don’t have—,” Bucky starts, but falls silent when Steve cuts him a glance.

Steve knows he does not need to do anything, but he still wants to.

“I need you to understand,” Natasha says, walking up to him, untouched by the snow all around them, “that the balance between humans and the rest of us is as thin as ice. They tolerate some of us, at least the ones who look as much like them as possible. The one’s whose otherness comes through, though, like you with your wings, do not have the same privilege.”

Steve swallows around a lump in his throat, hearing the truth of those words in his soul. He knows most of this already, but hearing it from Natasha adds a lot more weight to it. “I know,” he whispers, tone heavy with the pain of it.

It is not a life he chose for himself, but it is the one he has. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, though, not now.

“Do not crack the ice, Steve,” Natasha warns him. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you can live your life as you did before, when all you were was flesh and bones.”

“I know I can’t,” Steve replies, because he does. He has left that life behind when he and Bucky went back for his things, and he has no intention of ever going back. “And I don’t want to.”

“He knows what’s at stake, if we were ever caught,” Bucky adds, lips turned down. “Steve’s reckless, but he wouldn’t put any of us in danger.”

Natasha looks at Steve, eyes ancient and cold. “Promise.”

Steve startles, caught off guard. “What?”

“Natasha, he doesn’t need—”

“Everyone does,” Natasha cuts him off. “Everyone who is other and settled near the mountains made a promise, and so will Steve.”

“What do you want me to promise?” Steve asks her, but before she can answers, he looks at Bucky. “Did _you_ promise?”

“Yes,” Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t bring you here for this. I didn’t have time to explain.”

“You didn’t want him bound to these lands,” Natasha corrects him, the words getting caught in Steve’s heart. “You wanted him to have the choice to leave.”

“Bucky?” Steve whispers, forgetting Natasha as he walks to Bucky, stopping short of his personal space.

“I never want you to feel trapped,” Bucky admits, eyes sad. “I didn’t want you to bind yourself to this place, in case you wanted to leave. Today you were only supposed to meet my best friend, not tie yourself to a place you don’t think of as home.”

Steve shakes his head, because this place has been home for some time now. When he thought about finding a safe place of his own after he learned everything he could about his new life, he never imagined going someplace that far away from Bucky. Even if there are still a lot of things they do not know about each other.

Steve made a choice when he sold his Ma’s house and moved to this forest, and he made another choice when he moved to Bucky’s cabin, and those choice still stand: home is right here.

So Steve cups Bucky’s cheek with one hand, thumb pressed to the dimple on his chin, and closes the distance between them in a soft kiss. “You’re a dumbass,” he says against Bucky’s lips, ignoring the low laugh he hears from Natasha. Bucky’s eyes are wide in surprise and offense, blue so bright Steve wants to drown in it. “You need to learn to tell me things, instead of keeping them to yourself until they blow up in our faces.”

Steve knows from the way Bucky’s eyes soften that he understands.

“I’ve been telling him that for centuries,” Natasha pipes up, and when Steve looks at her, she’s smiling. “He never listens. But maybe that is because I’m not tall and blonde and with a pair of wings of my own.”

“Shuddup, Nat,” Bucky mumbles, gaze still uncertain when he stares at Steve. “Will you…”

“I had every intention of making this place my home long before I met you,” Steve tells him, lips curved into a smile. “I made this choice for myself and you had nothing to do with it.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose a little. “That sounds kind of rude.”

Steve grins, kissing the tip of Bucky’s nose. “Too bad. This is my life and you can’t tell me what to do.”

Bucky huffs, eyes crinkling in the corners when he laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Steve tangles their hands together and, with a deep breath, he turns to Natasha. “What do I need to promise?”

 

**

 

Steve learns, as he stands at the base of the mountain with snow surrounding him and with Bucky by his side, that promises, when coupled with belief, are binding.

The words trap him, encircle him, and the magic holds him to his vow.

When he says he promises to do everything to protect those like him, those who share these lands he has claimed as home, he means it with every part of his being.

He also knows that if he breaks the binding, swift death will follow.

Natasha tells him as much, when she touches his face with cold fingers, and makes a promise of her own, “I will turn your insides into ice and shatter your very soul.”

 

**

 

“It is done,” Natasha states, taking a step back, the air around them suddenly a lot less chillier than it was before. “And now that that is out of the way…”

“Natasha,” Bucky groans, as if he knows exactly what is about to happen.

“It is very nice to meet you too, Steve,” Natasha finishes, eyes shining and lips curled up in amusement. “It has been decades since James last came to me speaking of someone who made his wings flutter.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky whispers, and Steve doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s mortified.

Steve, for his turn, can’t help but feel a little pleased with himself, which shows in the way he smiles at Natasha, light and fleeting. “That’s good to know, I guess.”

More than good to know. Steve makes note of it, especially when the words bring a light flush to Bucky’s cheeks.

“This was a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking,” Bucky grumbles, pushing at Steve. “C’mon, we’re going home.”

“But we just got here,” Steve wonders, loud and innocent, refusing to be moved. “I want to hear more about this wing fluttering thing.”

“Like yours don’t do the same thing,” Bucky mutters, proving his point by scratching at the base of Steve’s wings, fingers moving through the feathers.

Steve is quite ashamed to admit that he gasps and arches into the touch, goosebumps breaking all over his skin at the sensation.

“I’ve seen a lot of things during my existence,” Natasha’s voice breaks through them, forcing them apart, “and this is not something I wish to add to my list.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, cheeks hot, the impression of Bucky’s hand on his wing still clear in his mind.

“Sorry, Nat,” Bucky apologizes as well, now holding his hands clasped behind him back, a smug look on his face.

A hawk screams in the distance, making them all look up. Steve frowns, noticing this to be the first sound he’s heard of any life around these parts besides the three of them.

“I have to go,” Natasha says, eyes still on the blue sky.

“Say hi to Clint for me,” Bucky tells her, giving her a soft smile. “And expect another visit soon.”

Natasha glances back at Bucky, nodding minutely. “I will,” she says, and then adds, “Be careful out there. Some of us won’t be as welcoming to Steve as I was.”

Steve tenses, looking from Natasha to Bucky and back again. Bucky just nods at her, and between a blink and the next they are alone again, Natasha nowhere in sight.

The snow on the ground where she stood is left untouched, as if she was never there at all.

 

**

 

Home is warm and inviting, and Steve’s shoulders relax as he breathes in the familiar scent of wood and fire and the cookies Bucky is putting in the oven. He has a million questions on his mind, about Natasha and everything that has been said, but he keeps them to himself for now.

Steve washes away the numbing coldness of the snow that still clings to him, eyes closed under the hot stream of the shower. He takes his time washing himself, using one of the citrus-y soaps Bucky always seems to favor.

The water on his wings, running through his feathers, is still a sensation he is not all accustomed to, but it serves to keep his mind off of things. The time he spends grooming after he’s dried and dressed, taking care of wings just like Bucky taught him to, gives him focus and a chance to gather his thoughts.

There is a lot packed into their meeting with Natasha. Steve is now privy to a lot more information about life as Bucky lives it than he was before, as well as about all of the other creatures that populate the forest and mountains, and about Bucky himself. He wasn’t naive enough to think he and Bucky were totally alone out here; as a human, he’d been warned about the beings that lurked in the darkness, behind the tree lines, deep within the mountains. He also wasn’t foolish enough to believe he knew everything there was to know about the angel by his side.

But now Steve is aware, painfully aware of what little knowledge he has managed to piece together. And he’s smart enough to figure out that settling here is not as simple as he thought of at first. Not that it matters, when he has made a promise and bound himself to this land.

Steve has a lot of regrets in his life, but that is not one of them.

Bucky is munching on a cookie and lounging on the couch when Steve finds him, plate balanced on his stomach. He watches Steve approach with sharp eyes, right wing extending to make room on the couch for Steve.

Steve doesn’t take the seat right away. Instead, he remains standing, hands loose at his sides. He stares at Bucky, at the beautiful picture he makes, and lets out a slow breath.

“James?”

Bucky has the grace to wince, wiping a few crumbs from his lips. Steve waits patiently until Bucky is done swallowing his cookie, although he does raise an eyebrow when Bucky decides to take his time doing it.

“That’s me,” Bucky says, licking his lips and watching Steve as if he’s about to start yelling.

“Your real name is James.”

“As far as I remember,” Bucky murmurs, looking down at himself.

Steve frowns, taking a step forward. “Buck?”

Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping. “It was the name I chose for myself when I fell. James. My real name… Or I guess my first name, as James isn’t any less real, is not something I can pronounce here.”

Steve swallows, knowing about the different angel dialects and how they don’t resemble anything ever uttered by humans before. “Where did you get Bucky from James?”

“Humans didn’t hunt us, when we first fell,” Bucky stars, eyes going distant and sad. “There was awe and fear, sure, but not jealousy and greed. Not yet. For some, there was even affection and friendship.”

“Who was Bucky?” Steve asks, dreading the answer.

Bucky smiles, a sad humourless painful smile that stabs Steve through the heart. “His name was Buchanan, actually. He was the son of one of the humans who opened their houses for us, offered us shelter and food. He was four years old, quick on his feet, and he liked to touch my wings when he thought I wasn’t looking.”

Steve’s heart constricts in his chest, pain so sharp he wants to reach out and make Bucky stop talking. He knows this story doesn’t have a happy ending, and even though he asked, he’s not sure he wants to hear more about it.

Bucky seems to understand, nodding once before he swallows, his hands curling into fists. “After he died, after they _murdered_ him,” he spits, fire back into his eyes, as well as hurt and grief so deep Steve knows Bucky will never be rid of it, “I took Bucky as a name for myself. As a way to remember what happened, to remember what was done to us, and to honor the memory of a child who didn’t get a chance to grow up.”

At those words, Steve breaks.

He rushes to Bucky, gathering in his arms, squeezing as tight as he can. Bucky trembles against him, hands clutching at Steve’s clothes, wet little gasps coming from his mouth. Steve holds him, and doesn’t let go.

For the rest of the day, he does not let go.


	7. Sharing

Steve sits down gingerly on the couch, holding back a shudder at having their wings brush together.

It’s been a few days since they had their talk, since Bucky shared a piece of himself, raw and painful, with Steve. Things have been quiet between them; Bucky a little more withdrawn than usual, while Steve tries to give him as much comfort as he can.

Steve catches Bucky’s smug little smile from the corner of his eye, and huffs at himself. That only makes Bucky’s smile widen, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Little by little, Bucky’s been coming back to himself.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Steve complains, elbowing Bucky on the side before taking a bite of Bucky’s tuna sandwich for himself.

“It’s my natural disposition,” Bucky informs him, stuffing the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, cheeks puffing out. He looks so cute Steve doesn’t fight the urge to lean in and smack a wet kiss to Bucky’s cheek, smiling a smug smile of his own when Bucky’s cheeks turn a slight pink. “Sap,” Bucky murmurs, lips tugging at the corners.

“It’s my natural disposition,” Steve throws back, grinning when Bucky rolls his eyes and reaches for another sandwich.

Steve bides his time, eating with Bucky until there is nothing but crumbs left on the plate. It is nothing out of the ordinary for them to sit in silence, just enjoying each other’s company, as they eat something or read a book. The silence between them is always a comfortable one, and since meeting Bucky, Steve has learned to be patient.

Well, mostly.

“So,” Steve breaks the silence, scowling when Bucky laughs.

“Took you long enough.”

Steve makes a face, putting his half-eaten sandwich on a plate on the coffee table before turning back to Bucky. Since Bucky is being playful, Steve figures he can be a little pushy and not mince his words. “You need to start telling me things I need to know.”

Bucky sighs, humor gone from his expression. “Sharing what I know is not something I’m used to. You’re going to have to remind me, sometimes.”

“I’m reminding you now,” Steve murmurs, shifting closer to Bucky. He grabs one of Bucky’s hands in his, tangling their fingers together. “You’re not alone anymore, Buck.”

“No, I’m not,” Bucky whispers, bringing their hands up so he can press a light kiss to Steve’s knuckles. “We’re both bound to this place, aren’t we?”

They are, even if they are not bound to each other.

“This is our home,” Steve says, the truth of those words weighing heavily between them. “Now tell me about it.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

Steve blinks, mind surging through the million different questions he has. He picks the easiest one, and one that he is most curious about. “Who’s Clint?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise, mouth parting a little. “That’s what you want to know?”

“That’s only _one_ _of_ the things I want to know,” Steve corrects him. “I figured it’d be a good start.”

Bucky snorts, moving around until he’s cuddled under Steve’s arm, his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Well, Clint is a shifter.”

“Oh?” Steve prompts, interested. “What kind?”

“Hawk,” Bucky answers, rubbing his cheek against Steve’s pec. Steve smiles down at him, raising a hand so he can start running his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “He’s also Nat’s husband.”

“He’s _what_?” Steve asks, so baffled he accidentally pulls at Bucky’s hair, making him hiss. “Sorry, sorry,” Steve apologizes, dropping a kiss to the crown of Bucky’s head.

Bucky frowns up at him, but his expression smooths out when Steve kisses his forehead, and then the tip of his nose. He smiles a little and goes back to cuddling, tucking his head under Steve’s chin.

“He’s Nat’s husband,” Bucky repeats, sliding his hand up under Steve’s sweater, palm resting on Steve’s stomach. “I don’t know how it happened, or when they met, or how long they’ve been together. All I know is that they are married and share a bond, and both are binding.”

Steve stills a little at that piece of information, and his next words catch in his throat. “Like our bond would be, if I…?”

“Yes,” Bucky answers, voice nothing but a whisper.

Steve nods, putting that information away for later. It is good to know someone out there shares a bond he and Bucky might have as well, if they decide that is what they want. It means Steve can ask them about it, and they can offer him a new perspective of what having a bond means and how it affects them. As much as Bucky knows about binding bonds, he’s never experienced one himself.

“What did Nat mean?” Steve asks as he twirls a strand of Bucky’s hair between his finger, changing the subject. “When she said not everyone would be as welcoming?”

Steve does not want to admit it, but the thought sends a shiver down his spine. If Natasha trying to turn him into ice from the outside in is welcoming, he’s not sure he wants to find out what is not.

“We are coveted, us angels,” Bucky starts explaining, voice devoid of emotion. “And that makes us a threat.”

Those are echoes of Natasha’s words from before, and Steve closes his eyes. “They don’t think we’re worth the risk.”

They don’t think they are worth protecting.

“Some of them, no,” Bucky agrees, “and those are the ones we need to watch out for.”

Steve tenses, slipping his hands away from Bucky’s neck so he can wrap an arm around his shoulders, gathering him close. “Would they hurt us?”

“If they thought they could get away with it, yes,” Bucky tells him, and when Steve looks down he can see the way Bucky’s lips curl up in a nasty smile. “And they wouldn’t help us either, if they ever saw us in danger or hurt. Turning the other way and feigning ignorance is easy when it could mean us dead and their problems gone.”

“That’s bullshit,” Steve snaps, all fire and anger. His wings uncurl and extend behind his back, feathers looking as sharp as knives.

Bucky sits up, only enough so they are face to face, his hand on Steve’s stomach now rubbing soothing circles against his skin. “It is, but it’s the price we pay.”

“We can’t just do _nothing_ ,” Steve argues, staring at Bucky with bright eyes and a clenched jaw. “We can’t just let them—”

“We _don’t_ let them, Steve,” Bucky interrupts him, his smile transforming into something cold and harsh and deadly and stopping Steve in his tracks. “We fight back and we _survive_.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, lost in the depth of Bucky’s eyes. He can see, in that moment, the fiery resolve that’s kept Bucky alive all of these years, these _decades_ , despite watching his kin be slaughtered and turned.

It makes him reach out and cup Bucky’s cheek in one hand, his wings fluttering as protectiveness rushes through him and makes him silently vow to never let anything happen to the angel in front of him. Bucky leans into his touch, his own wings coming to meet Steve’s own, creating a cocoon of feathers around them.

“We fight,” Steve repeats, the words falling as a promise between them. “If we have to, we _fight_.”

Bucky’s smile softens, one of his hands coming up to rest over Steve’s on his cheek, before he grabs Steve’s hand and brushes a kiss against Steve’s knuckles. “I better teach you how, then.”

Steve blinks, wings stopping their fluttering as confusion hits him. “But I know how to fight.”

Bucky nuzzles the back of Steve’s back, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement when he asks, “Do you?”

 

**

 

Steve doesn’t know how to fight. He might have been a fairly good fighter when he was human, or at least good enough to keep himself alive and do some damage, but fighting as an angel is an entirely different thing.

Steve should have suspected it, when it took him two weeks to learn how to stand without his wings dragging to the floor or accidentally bumping into things as he walked. It took him even longer to learn how to fly, to use his wings as they are meant to be used, to be familiar enough with that new part of himself.

Steve should have suspected it. And as Bucky slams him to the floor for the fourth time that day, he’s getting a bit tired of always being reminded that he knows nothing at all.

“Fuck,” Steve hisses, breath rushing out of his lungs as Bucky presses him down onto the floor.

“You’re getting better,” Bucky tells him, and Steve does not need to look at him to know Bucky’s smiling. “You lasted five whole minutes this time.”

Steve sets his jaw, muscles straining as he tries to free himself from Bucky’s hold. As strong as Steve is, the movements are useless. Bucky is stronger and more experienced, his body hard and heavy like marble, pinning Steve securely in place.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out again, this time for an entire different reason.

He can admit to himself that something about Bucky being able to overpower and hold him still makes him grow hot all over, lust pooling in his gut. He knows Bucky notices it. It would be impossible not to, with the way Steve arches up a little, seeking contact.

Bucky’s breathing changes and he turns his head, nose grazing the shell of Steve’s ear. “Oh,” he says, such a small tiny sound, his breath ghosting over Steve’s skin as he leans in closer.

And that is all Steve needs before he makes his move, bracing his feet on the floor and flipping them over, successfully catching Bucky off guard. Bucky yelps, the sound like music to Steve’s ears, his wings flailing a little at the sudden change in position.

“Gotcha.” Steve grins, straddling Bucky’s lap and pinning his legs down, his hands wrapped around Bucky’s wrists and holding them over Bucky’s head, pressed to the floor.

This is the first time in the week since they’ve started training that Steve has managed to do anything like this to Bucky. As used to fighting as he was as a human, fighting as an angel is entirely different. While Steve is capable of getting a few hits in whenever he and Bucky spar, Steve’s never actually laid him out before.

Not until today.

Bucky blinks up at him, looking all kinds of stunned. “Well,” he says after a few seconds, clearing his throat, “what an unforeseen turn of events.”

Bucky sounds so put out and shocked it makes Steve laugh, hands sliding down from Bucky’s wrists and down his arms until they’re resting on his shoulders. Steve is giddy with this new victory, the progress he’s made since Bucky started teaching him how to use his new body to fight.

“You told me to use everything I had in my favor,” Steve throws back, bending down so he can nuzzle his nose against Bucky’s. “I believe your exact words were: _no fight is a fair fight when your life is at risk_.”

Words Steve made sure to memorize, as they were the first thing Bucky told him when they started training. He understands how valuable they are, how important, especially when the only reason he’s here in the first place is because a mermaid tried to murder him.

“I didn’t think you’d use them against _me_ ,” Bucky grumbles, brows coming together in a scowl, although his eyes betray his bad mood by shining with pride.

Steve keeps grinning, happiness and amusement coursing through to him. “Look who’s a sore loser,” he teases, booping Bucky’s nose.

Bucky looks more outraged by that than he did about Steve pinning him down, lips curling down and eyes flashing dangerously. “You… You...” he sputters, mouth opening and closing without finding any words.

“Me?” Steve sing-songs, still grinning. This vision of Bucky, who is usually so graceful and beautiful and deadly, appearing so disconcerted makes Steve’s heart almost burst with affection.

“You’re a little shit, did you know that?”

“It’s been said,” Steve answers softly, glancing down at Bucky.

Bucky shakes his head at him, a few strands of hair covering his forehead. Steve brushes them away from Bucky’s face, thumb tracing the sharp lines of Bucky’s cheekbone.

It’s been almost four months of this new life Steve found for himself. And it’s been a month of _them_ , together like this; of kisses and touches and easy intimacy. Steve knows it’s too soon to say he’d gladly live a thousand years like this, but he does not think that sounds as scary as he first thought.

In his distraction, Steve misses the way Bucky’s eyes sparkle and how his hands come to wrap themselves around Steve’s wrist. At least until Bucky is flipping them over again, pushing Steve down underneath him, effectively trapping him again.

“Pro tip,” Bucky says, getting so close to Steve’s face their noses almost brush, “don’t be distracted by a pretty thing.”

Steve takes those words to heart, but as Bucky closes the distance between them and kisses him, he figures this time it is not so bad.

 

**

 

They keep a steady schedule.

Sparring is reserved for the early mornings, after Bucky makes them breakfast, which usually consist of something fluffy and sweet like pancakes or waffles with a side of whatever fruit they have at the cabin. It takes Steve some time, but he slowly starts getting better and better at fighting, at learning how to use his new body and strength, at taking Bucky down.

The novelty still hasn’t worn off, at least for Steve, whenever he tackles Bucky to the floor and pins him in place, Bucky’s wings vibrating in silent outrage. Steve can see the pride in Bucky’s eyes, though, and in the way his lips quirk up at the corners, right before he leans in and steals himself a kiss.

They always shower together, after. The warm water cascading down their bodies and over their wings, a balm to their sore muscles and bruises. There is nothing sexual about it, just an easy intimacy to the task, as Steve pours some shampoo into his hands and washes Bucky’s hair, and Bucky helps Steve grooms his wings.

Steve does have to admit he looks, though.

Steve drinks his fill of Bucky’s naked body, his tanned skin, the hard planes of his chiseled chest and stomach. There is so much _strength_ to Bucky, so much grace in the way he moves, that it almost takes Steve’s breath away.

“You still like the view, huh?” Bucky murmurs, eyes closed as Steve helps him rinse his hair. “Even after all these months?”

“Yes,” Steve replies, his own lips forming a small smile as his fingers card through Bucky’s hair. “You were naked the first time I met you, remember? It’s kinda hard to forget or get over something like that.”

Bucky snorts, moving away from the spray of the water. “Yes,” Bucky says as he opens his eyes, soft and fond, “I remember. Your life wasn’t the only one that changed, after that.”

Steve swallows and nods, hands falling to Bucky’s hips and pulling him close. The wet slide of their bodies coming together makes Steve shiver, but they don’t do anything other then hug, their wings brushing lightly against one another.

“C’mon,” Steve kisses the edge of Bucky’s jaw, “Let’s get out of here.”

Their post-shower rituals are one of Steve’s favorite parts of the day, as it means he is the one who gets his hands on Bucky’s wings. They groom each other; fingers finding places the other can’t reach, making each other’s wings shiny and beautiful. Bucky always brushes a kiss to Steve’s back when he’s done, right between the base of his wings.

Steve is the one who makes them lunch, mind going through all of the recipes his Ma taught him. He does have to be a little creative when some of their spices run out, and when other supplies diminish. It’s still enough to make them a hearty meal, which they eat in front of the fireplace, Steve leaning against Bucky’s side, and Bucky stealing cherry tomatoes from his plate.

And, if Steve cooks, Bucky is the one who gets to do the dishes.

There is one new and bright spot on their routine that Steve cherises. He even smiles to himself as he changes from his sweats and sweater, grabbing one of Bucky’s winter pants and one of his own coats, making sure he’s bundled up tight.

The cold doesn’t affect him much anymore, and the icy chill that has been Steve’s companion since coming here is not as strong as it once was. But Steve still tries to protect himself, and in this case protection means a puffy coat and insulated pants.

“Please be safe,” Bucky says as he catches Steve at the door, hands gentle but firm as they cup Steve’s cheeks.

“I will,” Steve promises, nuzzling their noses together. “I’ll stay within hearing range.”

“How will you know?” Bucky asks him, raising an eyebrow.

Steve just grins, pecks Bucky on the lips, and says, “You’ll see.”

Bucky huffs, but lets Steve go.

Steve can feel Bucky’s eyes on him as he walks, his grin turning into a soft smile. He closes his eyes for a second, feeling the breeze on his face, the fresh air filling his lungs. He looks back at the cabin from over his shoulder, waving at Bucky once before he starts on his path.

It is a new thing, this kind of freedom. A fragile thing, that Steve holds close to his heart.

Bucky hasn’t kept him prisoner by any means, but all of Steve’s ventures outside of the cabin have been with Bucky by his side. Steve knows that was Bucky’s way of protecting him before Steve was able to take care of himself, but now that Steve knows the basics of fighting as an angel, the situation is different.

Now, as long as Steve stays close by and does not get lost in the woods, he can have however long he likes to walk by himself. He can be alone with his thoughts, in the silence of the forest, with the wind on his face and the scent of snow and earth surrounding him.

“Hey, asshole,” Steve says to the empty air around him, straining his ears.

He’s reward by the sound of Bucky’s sharp laughter, a little muffled as he’s undoubtedly inside of their home.

“So this is what you meant by hearing range,” Bucky says, voice clear but a little far away. “You’ll insult me so I know you’re safe.”

“It works, doesn’t it?” Steve asks, smiling to himself.

“Just don’t forget to pay attention to your surroundings,” Bucky reminds him, sounding all kinds of amused. “I don’t want to have rescue you because you were busy trying to hear things and didn’t see a raised root on your way.”

Steve makes sure to look around as soon as Bucky stops talking, noticing nothing but a thin layer of snow on the ground. “I’m good.”

“Okay. Keep me posted, but maybe try not to insult me next time.”

“I make no promises,” Steve sing-songs, and once again gets a laugh as a reply.

Steve doesn’t know how much time he spends outside, but he relishes in the quiet and the view around him. For the first time in a long time, Steve kind of wishes he had his sketchbook with him, but he settles instead for committing this to memory as best as he can.

The path he walks is mostly a circle around the cabin, zig-zagging through trees, making footprints on the snow. He knows the possibility of someone stumbling across their home is small, but for his sake and Bucky’s, he’s still careful.

There is peace to be found in the forest, Steve realizes. The loneliness that was like a weight on his chest, crushing him to the floor, isn’t there anymore. Instead it is replaced by comfort and calm, and Steve feels it wash over him, settling something deep inside his heart.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve says, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Yes?” comes Bucky’s voice, low and gentle.

Steve takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’m coming home.”


	8. Trade

“We don’t have any milk.”

Steve raises his head from the book he’s reading, looking over the couch to Bucky as he walks out of the kitchen. “We don’t have any popcorn, either. Or pepper. And we’re almost out of lettuce, spinach, and rice.”

Bucky blinks, frowning at himself. “We need food.”

“We do,” Steve agrees, although he doesn’t know how to get it.

Apart from going back into town, that is, and he knows that’s a monumentally stupid idea.

Bucky, still frowning, walks to one of the shelves, grabbing a small wooden box he keeps in between cookbooks. He flicks it open, picking up a small black notebook, flipping the pages until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Huh, that explains it.”

“What?” Steve asks, peering up curiously.

“Should’ve asked for supplies about two weeks ago.”

Steve doesn’t ask Bucky why he didn’t. He knows he’s part of, if not _the_ reason Bucky has stayed close to home. So he bites down on his lip and goes back to reading his book, the words blurring together as guilt churns in his stomach.

“Hey,” Bucky says, sitting down beside Steve on the couch, Steve’s toes pressed to Bucky’s thigh. “Stevie.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurts out, only to snap his mouth back shut, jaw clenched.

“For what?” Bucky asks, and Steve doesn’t have to look at him to hear the surprise in his tone.

“For— for keeping you from living your life,” Steve says through a lump in his throat, fingers gripping the book so tight he crumples a few of the pages together. “For being a _burden_.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky breathes out, taking the book from Steve and holding Steve’s hands in his own, their fingers entwined. “What the fuck?”

Steve stays quiet, eyes lowered, guilt written on every line of his face. He never asked for this life, for his wings, but he knows Bucky didn’t either.

In the end, Steve doesn’t have to say anything. Not that he would be able to, when Bucky tugs him forward, Steve sprawling across his lap, Bucky’s lips against his own, harsh and unforgiving. All Steve can do is kiss back, his arms finding their way around Bucky’s shoulder, clutching him tight as Steve presses himself as close to Bucky as he can.

“Don’t ever say anything like that again, do you hear me?” Bucky gasps between their mouths, eyes blazing. “You’re not a burden, Steve.”

“I’m—,” Steve opens his mouth to argue, only to have Bucky shush him and rest their foreheads together.

“You’re a fucking _gift_ , that’s what you are,” Bucky tells him, fierce and a little bit angry.

It makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat, his stomach flipping with butterflies. “Bucky,” is all he’s able to say, words gone from his mind. So he kisses Bucky instead, slow and sure, until they’re both breathless.

“And you’re fucking idiot, too,” Bucky adds once they break apart, poking Steve in the ribs.

Steve yelps, the tension between them broken. “ _Rude_ ,” he says, taking Bucky’s hands and holding them securely against his own chest. The guilt he was feeling turns into something lighter, and it is easy to let go of it completely at the look in Bucky’s eyes as Bucky stares up at him.

“Do you understand?” Bucky presses his palms against Steve’s chest, fingers digging in a little.

“I understand.” Steve nods, kissing Bucky’s forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his mouth.

“Come with me,” Bucky says after they’ve stopped kissing, his hands sliding from Steve’s chest down to his waist.

“Where?” Steve asks, even though he doesn’t need to.

Steve would follow Bucky wherever he’d want to go.

“To get supplies.”

Steve pulls back, eyebrows raised as he stares at Bucky. “What?”

“Come with me,” Bucky repeats, lips curving up. “It’s time to learn a few more things about the rest of your life.”

It sounds ominus when Bucky says it, but sitting on his lap, Steve feels excitement spark through him. If this is what the rest of his life will look like, it is not all bad.

 

**

 

“Add whatever you think we need,” Bucky says, handing Steve a pen and the little black notebook he kept in the box.

Steve takes it, eyes flittering through the pages, scanning lists upon lists of supplies and the dates in which Bucky requested them. He flicks through them until he finds a blank page, jotting down the current date, followed by the supplies he knows they need more of.

“Is there anything we can’t get?” Steve asks, worrying at his bottom lip as he adds _toilet paper_ , _bleach_ , and _dish soap_ to the list.

“Weapons,” Bucky pipes up from the kitchen, followed by the sounds of cabinets opening and closing.

Steve stops writing, blinking up in the direction of the kitchen. “Do we need them?”

“Nope.”

“Okay…,” Steve trails off, feeling a little uneasy. “Anything else?”

“Sex toys,” Bucky says as he vaults over the back of the couch and flops down beside Steve, grinning at him.

Steve sputters, blood rushing to his pale cheeks and tinging them red. “Are you—”

“Serious? Yes.” Bucky nods, the picture of innocence, but Steve isn’t fooled. “Not because we can’t really _get_ them, but more because I’m not comfortable with someone else knowing what I do with my free time.”

Steve opens and closes his mouth, making a little shocked sound in the back of his throat. Bucky just keeps staring at him, eyes glinting with wicked glee.

“You’re making fun,” Steve finally says, sounding a little strangled.

Bucky lets out a laugh, leaning against Steve’s side. “A little bit,” he says, smacking a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “You look cute when you blush.”

“You’re officially the worst person I know,” Steve mutters, cheeks still hot.

“Good thing I’m not a person at all, then,” Bucky throws back, grin sharp and dangerous. He peers over Steve’s shoulder down at the list, breath tickling Steve’s neck. “Add pasta, dried meat, and cookie dough, please.”

It takes them a few minutes, but between them they write down everything they will need to survive for a few more months. Bucky takes the notebook from Steve when it’s all done, sliding it into his back pocket. The pen takes its place between strands of Bucky’s hair, as he twirls his ponytail around until he makes it into a bun.

Steve gulps as he stares at Bucky, a few strands of hair falling from the bun and framing his face. “You’re beautiful,” he sighs, words getting away from him.

Bucky pauses, tucking his hair behind his ear. His expression softens, eyes liquid as he closes the distance between them for a kiss, mouth sweet and hot. “So are you, Steve.”

Steve wants to protest, but he can’t get any words out with Bucky’s lips against his. So he settles for kissing Bucky back, until they break apart, cheeks flushed and feeling a little breathless.

“We should go,” Bucky murmurs, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s before getting up. “We wouldn’t want to leave my friend waiting.”

“Friend?” Steve perks up, interested. He goes when Bucky pulls him up by the hand, tripping a little on his feet and bracing himself against Bucky’s chest.

“I do have them, you know,” Bucky points out, arms wrapping themselves around Steve, hands seeking the base of his wings.

Steve shivers, arching back into Bucky’s touch. “Are you sure? You’re kind of a jerk.”

Bucky snorts, a little puff of air against Steve’s jaw. It’s followed by a nip of teeth, quick and light and playful. “Go grab your boots. Sam will give me a lot of shit if we’re late.”

 

**

 

“You’re late.”

Steve presses his lips together not to laugh as Bucky gives him a pointed look. Instead he focuses on the man leaning back against a tree, his muscled arms crossed over his chest, an unamused look on his face. That must be Sam, Steve thinks, already liking him simply because he pokes fun of Bucky.

“I’m just in time, _Samuel_ ,” Bucky snipes, wings stretching out.

They stand in a clearing, facing opposite sides, trees tall around them. There is no settlement or signs of live as far as Steve can see, even though this seems to be a meeting point for Bucky and Sam.

“You don’t intimidate me, _James_ ,” Sam says, pushing off the tree. “Were you too busy combing your hair and lost track of time?”

“I’ll be too busy making you eat dirt if you don’t knock it off.”

Steve looks from Bucky to Sam and back again as they glare at each other, his own wings spreading behind his back as he gets ready to intervene if he needs to. He knows Bucky said Sam is a friend, but one never knows when friends might become enemies. In the end, Steve doesn’t need to worry, because three seconds later Sam and Bucky are smiling, hugging, and clapping each other on the back.

“It’s good to see your ugly face, man,” Sam says, ruffling Bucky’s hair as he pulls back. “Thought something might’ve happened to you.”

Bucky scowls at him without any heat, smoothing his hair down. “I’m okay,” he says, and his eyes move to Steve, a small smile gracing his face. “More than okay.”

Steve flushes a little, and then turns to Sam, hand extended. “Steve Rogers.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at him but shakes his hand, eyes catching for a second on Steve’s wings. He doesn’t say anything about them, not that he needs to. “Sam Wilson. And I guess this explains a few things.”

Bucky comes to stand beside Steve, their wings brushing together. Sam’s eyes cut to the contact, and Steve sees the minute quirk up of his lips.

“I thought it was time Steve knew how things are like,” Bucky tells Sam while he hipchecks Steve, “since he’s going to be around for a long while.”

“I see.” Sam nods, his barely there smile still on his face. “And instead of explaining things to him like a regular person, you decided to just throw him in the fire instead.”

“I’m an angel, not a person,” Bucky grumbles, scowling at Sam.

At the same time Steve throws his arms up and says, “Thank you,” making Sam laugh and Bucky scowl harder. Steve looks at Bucky, eyebrows raised. “What? It’s true. You love secrets and dramatic entrances.”

“He got that from Natasha,” Sam tells him, still grinning. “Centuries of living means they gotta keep themselves entertained.”

“That does explain a few things,” Steve nods, thoughtful.

Bucky glances from Steve to Sam and back again, scowl smoothing over into regret. “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

Sam just keeps grinning, and Steve joins him, feeling lighter than he has ever before.

“Really, Steve,” Sam addresses him, tilting his head in Bucky’s direction, “how much did he explain before he brought you here?”

“He told me you’d give him shit if we were late,” Steve answers, lips twitching when Sam gives Bucky a flat and unamused look.

Bucky has the grace to look a bit sheepish, his wings curling closer to his body.

“Do you know anything else?” Sam asks Steve, eyes clear and sparkling.

“Only that you’re Bucky’s friend,” Steve replies, voice soft. “And that you’re supposed to help us get supplies.”

“The bare minimum, then,” Sam sighs, pressing his lips together.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbles, shoulders slumped and gaze on the floor.

“We’re still working on the secrets thing,” Steve says, his eyes on Bucky.

Bucky looks up at him, an apology written in the down curve of his lips.

“Okay, so,” Sam claps his hands together, catching Steve and Bucky’s attention again, “Bucky, do you want to explain to Steve why we’re meeting in the middle of the woods and not at my house?”

“It’s safer,” Bucky says, and at Sam’s pointed look he adds, “for all of us. We’re not allowed to go into shifter territory without a sponsor, someone who can vouch for us that we’re there to do good and not disrupt things or cause trouble.”

Steve frowns, storing that information away. “You’re a shifter?” he asks Sam.

“Falcon.” Sam smirks. “Got wings prettier than your boy’s.”

Bucky snorts. “You fucking wish.”

Steve ignores the comments, focusing instead on the important parts. “Is this true for all shifters?”

“Yes,” Bucky and Sam answer.

“And does this rule go for everyone bound to this place or only for us?”

_Only for angels_ , is what Steve really means, even though he doesn’t say it. He knows Sam gets it, though, by the way his expressions softens.

“Everyone,” Sam tells him, calm and serious and a little sympathetic. “It makes it easier to control who goes in and out of each territory. Some shifters have more strict rules about who is allowed to come and go and know where the settlements are located.”

It makes sense, Steve thinks, for them wanting to protect their homes. There is safety in numbers, but there is more safety in people not knowing where you are.

“So we’re not meeting at your house because…” Steve trails off, wanting to see if he understands things right.

“It’s not needed,” Sam says. “Bucky can give me a list of what supplies you need without getting close to other shifters. It’s more of a safety precaution for you two, since you’re angels. No one needs to see you come in and out of certain parts of the forest on a regular basis.”

Steve worries at him bottom lip, taking it all in. This all goes hand in hand with Bucky’s cabin being so far away from everything, secluded and hidden even from others like them, and how hard he works at keeping that location a secret.

“But if it was needed?” Steve asks.

Sam smiles then, chest puffing out a little. “When it comes to bird shifters, I’m your sponsor. I know Bucky’s only a danger to anyone who tries to steal the last cookie.”

They all know that is not true, but Steve likes Sam a little bit better for the joke. Especially when it makes Bucky glare at him again, cheeks pinking slightly.

“I told you I was saving it,” Bucky huffs, wings snapping in agitation.

Sam throws his head back and laughs, the sound bringing a smile to Steve’s face. There is a story there, Steve knows, but he doesn’t ask. It warms his heart just to see Sam and Bucky interacting, and to know Bucky has a friend in Sam.

Steve knows loneliness, and he does not wish it on anybody.

“I take it cookies are on your list, huh?” Sam asks, still a little breathless with laughter.

“No,” Bucky says slowly, and then sighs, “It’s cookie dough.”

Sam laughs again, clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ll get you your cookie dough, I promise.”

“Good,” Bucky murmurs, taking the little folded paper list from his back pocket and handing it to Sam.

“Ass warmth, ugh,” Sam says in disgust, making Steve choke on a laugh.

Bucky looks heavenward, as if asking for strength.

“Will you be able to get everything on the list?” Steve asks, curious.

“Mostly, yeah.” Sam nods, carefully putting the list away. “Some of it I’ll have to ask other shifters to buy, but unless things are out of stock or not being sold, I should be able to get everything.”

“And payment?” Steve asks, because that is another thing Bucky hasn’t explained either.

Steve knows that everything in life has a price.

The clearing goes quiet at Steve’s question and he tenses. Sam and Bucky stare at each other, faces somber, silence growing thicker between them.

“Payment,” Sam starts, tone grave and eyes boring into Steve, “is your soul.”

Steve goes still, wings drawn back against his body, his face paling and his eyes widen. He stares at Sam, stomach churning, wanting it not to be true. He is so focused on Sam’s intense gaze that he misses Bucky shaking beside him.

At least until he bursts out laughing.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky wheezes, doubling over and resting his hands on his knees as he laughs, carefree and loud. “Oh man, Stevie, your _face_.”

Sam joins him a second later, laughter bubbling out of him and spilling over as he cackles, smugness practically radiating off of him.

Steve stands there, torn between anger and amusement. He settles for resignation, sighing and running a hand over his face. “I hate you. Both of you.”

“I just met you and I know that’s a lie,” Sam says, still giggling.

“You’re both jerks.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest, doing his best to look hurt and not laugh like he wants to.

“Yeah,” Sam grins, throwing an arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

“You better get used to it,” Bucky adds, grinning just as bright.

It makes him look even more beautiful, happiness spread across his face. But Steve is not one to let beauty stop him from being a little shit.

Steve narrows his eyes, focusing on Bucky. “You forget I know where you live.”

Bucky is the one who goes still this time, grin freezing.

“Oh shit,” Sam whispers, letting go of Bucky and taking a step back.

“You forget I share your bed,” Steve continues, “and you forget I know where you keep your candy stash.”

“You wouldn’t,” Bucky says, torn between suspicion and glee.

Steve has a feeling it has been a while since Bucky found himself in a situation like this, and he’s sure not if he should be scared or happy about it.

“I would,” Steve says, wings extending behind his back and sealing the promise.

Bucky’s wings and expression twitch, like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself. In the end he just pouts, pretty pink lips pursed, tempting Steve to bite.

“I see you’ve met your match,” Sam says, breaking the tension. When Steve turns to look at him, Sam looks pleased, a happy smile gracing his lips, his eyes glinting under the sunlight.

“It only took me centuries,” Bucky pipes up, teasing.

Steve can still hear the truth echoing behind his words.

“I need to know about payment,” Steve reminds them, bringing back to the topic at hand. “Since I’m staying here, I need to know how to get supplies if needed. I can’t only count on Bucky to take care of this kind of thing.”

Bucky doesn’t look happy at Steve’s choice of words, but they all know it to be true. As safe as the forest and mountains are, dangerous creatures still make it their home. It would be naive of them not to prepare.

“It depends on what you bring to the table,” Sam explains, rubbing a hand over his buzzed hair. “Everyone trades supplies for something different, because we all have different things to offer.”

“And in our case?” Steve asks, mind already going through what kinds of things he might offer.

He’s good at physical labor, has the strength for it, even more so now that he’s changed. He also has a knack for fixing broken things, a result of spending too many months stuck inside his house when he was a child, too sick to be out. There is also his art, his gift of creating beautiful images out of pencil and ink.

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know about you, but Bucky always pays with the same currency.”

“Which is?” Steve prompts, a little annoyed.

Sam might call Bucky out on keeping secrets, but he’s just as bad.

The answer, when it comes, is from Bucky, whose voice echoes around the clearing when he says, “Feathers. I pay Sam with feathers.”

 

**

 

Steve knows of the stories.

He knows of people plucking feathers from angels’ wings, right before they killed them. He knows of them being used as accessories, decorations, adornments. He knows of the value they can have, the richness they can represent.

Steve just never thought someone would part with them willingly.

 

**

 

“Feathers?” Steve turns to Bucky, voice low and surprisingly steady as his stomach churns.

He doesn’t know how to feel about this. He knows feathers are valuable, but he doesn’t like the thought of Bucky hurting himself just so he does not starve.

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay,” Bucky tells him, tone leaving no room for argument. “They’re useful to Sam and his cast, and I trust him not to do anything stupid or that compromises me.”

“Thank you,” Sam murmurs, and when Steve shoots him a glance, he adds, “We’ve been doing this for some time and never had any problems. Like Bucky said, it’s the price he’s willing to pay. If that doesn’t feel right to you, we can talk about a different form of payment.”

Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, mind running. “How are they useful?” he asks, because he’s only ever heard of angel feathers being used as a form of displaying one’s fortune.

Depending on Sam’s answer, he might be more than willing to part with a few of his own feathers as well.

“Charms, mostly,” Sam explains, “for healing and protection. It helps that Bucky gives them to us out of his own free will. It means more, and they hold more power that way. But feathers from different angels might be good for different things.”

“An angel plucking one of his own feathers and offering it to others meant a great deal, once upon a time,” Bucky says, eyes getting their far off look. “It was a gift and it was a blessing.” As he finishes talking, Bucky reaches behind him and plucks three of his blue-grey feathers, which glint under the light.

“I will honor our deal,” Sam says, rather formally, as he takes them from Bucky.

“You better,” Bucky answers, shaking his wings and sounding a little more like himself, “or I’ll tell Nat you’re the one who got Clint drunk on moonshine and let him fly home by himself.”

Sam goes still, eyes trained on Bucky. “How dare you, James.”

Steve interrupts them, since he has a feeling these two could spend the entire day arguing if someone let them. “They help you protect your family?” he asks Sam, his own wings fluttering a little by his sides.

“And cure illnesses, sometimes,” Sam nods, “amongst other things. Bucky is willing to share that with my cast, but like I said, you don’t have to.”

Steve knows he doesn’t, but Sam is helping them. Bucky obviously trusts him, even called him a friend, and Steve is more than willing to follow his example. “How many do you need?”

Beside him, through the corner of his eye, Steve can see Bucky smiling.

If Sam looks surprised, he doesn’t show it. “This time, none. The payment has been made in full. Next time, though, one from you will be enough.”

Steve frowns. “Bucky gave you three.”

“We know what Bucky’s feathers are good for,” Sam shrugs. “We still don’t know you. Despite Bucky vouching for you, you understand that we still have to be careful.”

Steve’s expression clears, and he nods slowly. He understands about wanting to protect his own. “Next time, then,” he promises, and Sam flashes him a smile.

“I should have everything ready in a couple of weeks,” Sam tells Bucky, coming up to hug him.

“Thanks, Sam.” Bucky returns the hug, clapping Sam on the back. “For everything.”

Sam pulls back and flicks Bucky’s ear, grinning wide. “No problem. And make sure not to disappear on me again.”

Steve feels a moment of guilt, but it’s gone when Bucky sighs and says, “But life is so much better when you’re not around.”

Sam huffs. “Please, I bring joy and purpose to your boring ass life.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “The lies you tell yourself, seriously.”

Sam lets out a laugh, clapping Bucky on the shoulder one more time before turning to Steve. He shakes Steve’s hand, grip sure and confident. “It was nice meeting you, Steve. I hope we all see more of each other.”

“You too,” Steve answers, oddly touched. “And we will.”


	9. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings** for grief, mentions of past character death, and very very brief mention of terminal illness. if you'd like to skip that, stop reading at _"I get that."_ and start again after the second ** at _Bucky’s words stay on Steve’s mind..._   
>   
> 
> happy reading <3

Sam keeps his promise. Around two weeks later, Steve and Bucky head to the clearing again, Steve’s eyes widening as he stares at the piles of food and other things set on the ground. It is enough supplies to last them for a few more months.

“This is… a lot.” Steve blinks at the bags, knowing it will take them a while to bring it all to the house.

Sam grins, carefree and playful. “Yup. And I won’t help you carry any of it.”

Steve didn’t think he would, but still. Sam is taking way too much pleasure in the hard work Steve and Bucky will have to do.

“You are the absolute worst,” Bucky states, flicking Sam on the arm when he walks past him to grab one of the bags.

“And you’re a secretive cookie,” Sam throws back, kicking some dirt in Bucky’s direction. “We’ve been friends for years and you never invited me to your house.”

Steve looks from Sam to Bucky and back again, deciding it’s best not to intervene. He can recognize this is just something they do, sometimes — insult each other. But he also knows there is a reason why Bucky keeps the location of his home close to his heart.

“I don’t want you to feel bad about how beautiful and cozy my cabin is,” Bucky sniffs. “You know, since you live up in a tree.”

“Yes,” Sam nods, “we all know I’m above you in every way.”

Bucky and Sam bicker for a few minutes more, until a falcon’s cry pierces the air.

“Uh, that’s my cue,” Sam says, clapping Bucky on the shoulder and nodding at Steve. “Good luck carrying all of this back to your place.”

It takes Steve and Bucky four trips to gather everything, leaving the bags in the living room after they make their way through the forest.

“Fucking finally,” Bucky says as he drops the last of the bags on the floor, blowing at a strand of hair that falls in his eyes.

Steve sighs, running a hand over his hair as he glances at the piles and piles of stuff in their living room, almost blocking the front door. “We need to put all of this away.”

Bucky groans, skipping to the couch so he can flop down on it. “Do we have to? I mean, right now?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just raises an eyebrow at him. Even being over centuries old, Bucky sure does behave like a child sometimes. Case in point: Bucky pouts, the corner of his lips turned downwards, his ice blue eyes big and sad. That look makes Steve’s heart clench painfully in his chest, but he’s not going to be the one to organize all of this. At least not by himself.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Steve promises, mouth quirking up in a small smile.

Bucky blinks at him, pout disappearing and giving way to a smirk. “Okay.”

It takes them over an hour to go through the bags containing food, making note of everything Sam got them and putting them away in their places. Steve is excited to have more spices to work with, and Bucky lets out a whoop and hugs the cookie dough to his chest.

Steve smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners at seeing Bucky so happy. It makes him helpless not to reach out and grab Bucky by the hips, pulling his closer, the cookie dough smacking against his chest as he kisses Bucky silly.

“We didn’t even finish putting things away,” Bucky breathes out, brushing his lips against Steve’s in another kiss.

“Are you complaining?” Steve teases, nipping at Bucky’s bottom lip.

Bucky shakes his head, the tip of his nose rubbing against Steve’s. “Just making a point.”

Steve snorts, but doesn’t bother with an answer. Instead he catches Bucky’s mouth in another kiss, this time slow and gentle. They lose a few minutes to this, to kissing, to being in each other’s arms. When Steve pulls back, they’re both flushed and a little breathless, lips kissed red.

“C’mon, let’s get the other stuff,” Steve says, pecking Bucky on the lips one more time before letting go of him.

“Let me just…” Bucky trails off, waving the cookie dough at Steve.

Steve nods, leaving Bucky to put those away as he makes his way back to their front door, eyes scanning the few bags that are left. He goes for the one closest to him, bending down and rummaging inside.

Steve freezes on the spot when his hand closes around the shape of something familiar, bristles tickling the palm of his hand. He kneels, staring down at the bag in front of him, eyes catching on paint brushes and paints and a new set of pencils.

“Oh.”

Steve looks up at the sound of Bucky’s voice, blinking owlishly. Bucky looks at him, shifting on his feet, hesitation and awkwardness making his wings flutter once and then curl tight against his back.

“You got me art supplies,” Steve says, shaky and no louder than a whisper.

They weren’t on the list. Steve knows, because he wrote most of it himself. This means Bucky must have added them later, in secret, before they went to meet Sam.

Bucky nods, taking a few steps closer, but stopping himself before he reaches Steve. “I thought… I thought you might like them.”

Steve swallows around a lump in his throat, nose stinging.

Art has always been something precious to him, a way to express himself. His Ma used to say that was his gift: to bring beauty into the world through his paintings, to inspire others and make them smile.

Since she died, no one has had a kind word to say about it. It has been a long time since anyone cared enough about Steve to care about whether he made art.

“Steve?” Bucky tries, slowly kneeling down on the floor so they are facing each other. “You… It’s okay if you don’t like them. I can take them back to—”

Steve interrupts him, and he does that by pushing the bag aside and wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck. The hug is impossibly tight, their upper bodies pressed together from waist to shoulders. Steve tucks his face against the side of Bucky’s neck, eyes snapped shut, trying to fight back tears.

Bucky brings his arms around Steve’s waist, holding him close, one of his hands sliding up and down Steve’s back, trying to soothe him. Every once in a while his fingers brush the base of Steve’s wings, and his lips drop sweet kisses to the side of Steve’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says after a while, breath ghosting over Steve’s skin.

Steve shakes his head the best way he can while his face is smooshed against the side of Bucky’s neck, sniffling a little. “No sorries.”

“I upset you,” Bucky argues, sounding more upset than Steve is at the moment. “I didn’t meant to—”

Steve pulls back, nose red and eyes a little wet. He knows he doesn’t look his best, but Bucky doesn’t shy away when Steve closes the distance between them, slotting their lips together in a kiss. Steve tries to pour everything that he’s feeling into it, every emotion he can’t find the words to explain. He knows Bucky gets it when he melts into the kiss, his fingers burying themselves in the feathers of Steve’s wings.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, because that is all he can bring himself to say.

Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead, not letting go. “No thank yous.”

Steve lets out a small laugh, kissing the dimple on Bucky’s chin. “Okay.”

“I know you haven’t been drawing,” Bucky murmurs, still holding Steve in his arms, “even though you grabbed all of your art stuff from your cabin, but I thought you might like this.”

Steve swallows hard, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

He knows Bucky is right: he hasn’t been drawing. He can’t really remember the last time he put pencil to paper and let his mind wander, sketching lines and making sense of the things inside his head. He hasn’t felt like creating anything in a long time, hasn’t been inspired since his mother died and all he could draw was her face.

“I haven’t really felt like it,” Steve says, as honest as he can be at the moment. “And I kind of had other important things to worry about,” he finishes, making his point with a flutter of his wings.

Bucky tenses against him, arms falling to his sides as he pulls back. His eyes are on the floor, but Steve can see the guilt on the harsh line of his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, hands curling into fists on top of his thighs.

“I said no sorries,” Steve reminds him, placing his hands on top of Bucky’s, thumbs rubbing at Bucky’s knuckles. “None of this is your fault.”

“It kind of is,” Bucky tries to argue, shrugging one shoulder.

Steve huffs, leaning in so he can nuzzle his nose against Bucky’s until he nuzzles back and then looks up. “I don’t blame you,” Steve tells him once they’re eye to eye again, voice low and soft. “Not even a little bit.”

Bucky lets out a slow breath, bumping his forehead against Steve’s. “Okay.”

Steve can tell Bucky doesn’t really believe him, but he lets it go for now. “I haven’t really drawn anything since…,” he trails off, throat constricting, “since my Ma passed. It has nothing to do with you. It’s just hard, sometimes, to make something when…”

When his biggest supporter isn’t there anymore, Steve thinks. When the person who gave him strength is gone.

“I know,” Bucky answers, breath ghosting over Steve’s cheek, hands flipping on his thighs so he can tangle their fingers together.

Steve gives them a squeeze, finding comfort in their shared grief. “The things I brought back with me were mostly gifts from Ma,” he explains. “It didn’t feel right to leave them behind, even if I haven’t been using them.”

“I get that.” Bucky nods, lifting his head so he can drop a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “And I’m sorry.”

Steve nods back, throat tight and eyes filling with tears. “I miss her,” he admits, voice breaking as he chokes on a sob. All he can do is let himself cry as Bucky shifts them around so he’s on Bucky’s lap, feeling the warmth of Bucky’s chest at his side and Bucky’s arms tight around him.

“I know,” Bucky repeats, lips at Steve’s temple, trying to sooth him. “I know, Stevie.”

Steve lets himself cry. He lets himself feel and grieve, lets the feelings he’s kept locked away inside his chest to burst open. He lets himself break down and spill his sadness all over their living room, getting Bucky’s shirt wet with snot and tears.

He misses his Ma.

He misses Sarah Rogers.

He knows he always will.

 

**

 

It feels like a lifetime has gone by when Steve’s sobs taper down to silent tears, his body heavy and eyes red. He’s clutching at Bucky’s shirt, knuckles white, and his breath is shaky as he tries to calm himself down. He feels tired, worn out, and raw.

He also feels lighter. As if a little bit of weight has been lifted off his shoulders when he let himself cry his heart out.

Steve makes a little hurt sound in the back of his throat, slowly sitting up. He doesn’t look at Bucky, keeping his eyes focused on the bunched up fabric of Bucky’s top, dark grey and stained with tears. He does startle a little when he feels Bucky’s mouth against his cheek, kissing his tear tracks away.

“Buck,” Steve rasps out, voice thick and wavering.

Bucky shushes him, brushing butterfly kisses to Steve’s face. Steve lets himself be kissed, relaxes into the touch of Bucky’s soft lips against his skin, and feels a little bit of himself heal.

“What was her name?” Bucky asks him.

Steve takes a deep breath. “Sarah.”

“Sarah,” Bucky says, holding Steve closer. “Tell me about her?”

Steve glances up at Bucky from under wet lashes and finds Bucky staring back at him, his eyes sad and understanding. “She was kind of a lot,” he blurts out, huffing out a laugh when Bucky reels back and blinks, shocked. “She really was. She raised me all by herself while working whatever jobs she could to keep me fed and clothed. It wasn’t until I could be trusted to stay alone and not set the apartment on fire that she went back to nursing school and got her diploma.”

“She was a nurse?” Bucky asks, smiling a little.

“Yeah. It came in handy since I was sick pretty much all the time when I was a kid.” Steve swallows around a lump in his throat, chest hurting. “She died of lung cancer.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” Bucky hugs him, his wings coming around them in a little cocoon of warmth and safety.

“She was a great mom,” Steve continues, sighing. “The best mom. She’d tell me stories when I was a kid, before bedtime, about the _Tuatha Dé Danann_ and _Tír na nÓg_. Every weekend she’d bring out this really old cookbook and she’d ask me to help her make her something from it. That’s how I learned how to cook, and because we didn’t have a lot of money, that’s how I learned to get creative when it came to food.”

“That’s why you didn’t have a problem when our food started dwindling,” Bucky pipes up, his feathers tickling the bare skin of Steve’s arms.

“I’ve made do with less,” Steve says, and then adds, “A lot less.”

Bucky nods, cheek rubbing against Steve’s hair. “Tell me more.”

“She bought me my first paint set when I was six,” Steve says, smiling at the memory. “It was a cheap one, and the brush was all prickly and harsh, but it was the best gift in the world. She gave me some blank paper to paint on, and when I got through all of them, she found an old notebook she wasn’t using. I used to spend hours and hours just sketching, drawing all sorts of things.” Steve shakes his head at himself, voice soft, “Sometimes I think Ma only got them for me because it was a way for her to keep me inside the house whenever I had the flu. Don’t think she expected me to love it so much.”

“But you did.”

“I still do,” Steve admits, smile wobbling and slipping from his face, “Just haven’t been all that inspired lately.”

“You will,” Bucky tells him, almost like a promise. “It takes some time, but you won’t feel like grief is trying to choke you at every breath.”

Steve licks his lips, tilting his head up so he can glance at Bucky. His hand reaches out of its own accord, cupping Bucky’s cheek, his thumb pressing lightly against the dimple on Bucky’s chin. “What was her name?”

Bucky leans into Steve’s touch and closes his eyes. “My mother’s name was Winifred.”

“Winifred,” Steve says, and then echoes Bucky’s words back to him, “Tell me about her?”

“Her wings were green,” Bucky says, and Steve starts painting a picture in his head. “They were a little smaller than mine, but with the same silver tint. I remember holding on to the end of one of them when I was a child, and begging her to lift me up. She’d do it sometimes, and she’d spin around until we both got too dizzy to stand.”

“She sounds fun,” Steve says, words inadequate in his mouth.

“She was,” Bucky agrees, sadness etched across his face. “She’d sing us to sleep when she could, making puppets out of clouds. She taught me how to throw a punch, but she also taught me to be kind. Those are lessons I try not to forget.”

Steve traces the sharp curve of Bucky’s jaw with his thumb, hand coming to rest on the side of Bucky’s neck. “Us?”

Bucky opens his eyes. “Rebecca. My little sister.”

Steve’s breath catches in his lungs, expressions crumbling and twisting with pain. “ _Bucky_.”

Bucky gives him a tremulous sad little mock of a smile, his voice thick when he says, “Not a day goes by where I don’t miss them.”

When the first tear falls down Bucky’s cheek, Steve’s heart shatters. He knows that kind of pain, and all he can do is offer Bucky the same kind of comfort Bucky tried to give him. So Steve gathers Bucky in his arms, his wings extending around them, and holds close and tight for as long as Bucky needs him.

 

**

 

Bucky’s words stay on Steve’s mind long after they’ve gone to bed, exhausted and still clinging to each other. He holds close to his heart this little piece of himself that Bucky has shared, treasuring the trust Bucky has in him.

Steve, for the first time in a really long time, feels the strong urge to sketch again.

He’s had fleeting thoughts about it, ever since coming here. None of them strong enough to make him glance back at his art supplies, forgotten near one of the bookshelves in the living room.

It’s different, this time. Steve’s fingers itch for a pencil, itch to transform the images on his mind into something tangible. The only thing stopping him from getting up in the middle of the night in search of his things is Bucky, who is asleep on his chest, their legs tangled together.

And so Steve waits.

 

**

 

The pencil feels both awkward and familiar in his hand.

Steve looks down at it, eyes then moving to the blank sketchbook balanced on his knee. He’s sitting by the window, the clear morning light warming his skin and illuminating the room. Bucky is outside, chopping wood for their fireplace, muscles straining as he brings down an axe over a log with precision.

Steve drags his gaze away from the gorgeous sight that Bucky makes, but he commits it to memory. He’ll definitely want to draw that, once he’s made sure he still remembers how.

“Something easy first,” Steve mumbles to himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

Slowly, lines takes shape on paper. Steve lets himself get caught up in it, calmness washing over him as he practices, his tongue poking out between his teeth as he concentrates. He’s rusty, making more mistakes than he’s comfortable with, but he knows these are the consequences of spending so much time without drawing.

Day after day, Steve sits by the window with is sketchpad and a pencil while Bucky does his own thing. It takes Steve a while until he stops completely hating what he draws, pad filling with drawings of the trees surrounding the cabin, the living room bookshelves, the bowl of fruit sitting on the table.

On one memorable occasion, Steve blinks up from his art-induced stupor and glances around, stopping when he finds Bucky sitting on the couch, cookie plate in his lap, looking all kinds of pleased with himself as he watches Steve. Bucky grins when their gazes meet, but doesn’t say anything. He just points down at his cookies and then at Steve, silently asking him if he wants some.

It’s not a difficult decision for Steve to close his sketchpad and flop down beside Bucky. Despite Bucky’s obvious happiness that Steve is drawing again, he doesn’t say anything. Steve is grateful for it, seeing as he doesn’t want to make this a big deal. It already feels like too much, sometimes.

Still, he cups Bucky’s cheek and pulls him into a kiss, tasting chocolate and sweetness. “Thank you,” he murmurs against Bucky’s lips, right before pulling back and swiping a cookie.

Bucky knocks their knees together, smiling around cookie crumbs. “Always.”

 

**

 

Steve knew sooner or later he’d find himself here. He should’ve prepared better for this moment, so his heart wouldn’t speed up and his palms wouldn’t sweat. As it is, he worries at his bottom lip with his teeth and he looks at Bucky sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace, over a mess of blankets and pillows, a book propped on his stomach as he reads, and his wings spread under him.

Bucky is beautiful, and Steve is eager to sketch him. Problem is, he doesn’t really know how to ask.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Bucky says, startling Steve out of his thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off his book, flipping to the next page.

“Shuddup.” Steve scowls, cheeks turning a little pink.

Bucky just smirks to himself, grabbing his wooden bookmark and placing it between pages to hold his spot. He sets the book aside and turns on his stomach, propping his chin on top of his folded arms. He peers up at Steve, wings glinting silver and blue eyes filled with mirth. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Steve lies, lips turning down when Bucky snorts in disbelief.

“Sure,” Bucky drawls. “You just always look like you’re constipated.”

Steve throws a pillow at Bucky, scowling when Bucky catches it in mid air. “Show off.”

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky says, hugging the pillow under his chest, the side of it pressing against his chin. “Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing,” Steve sighs, lowering his gaze.

“ _Steve_.”

“It isn’t.”

“You can’t expect me to belie—”

“I was just wondering…” Steve trails off, biting at his bottom lip again.

“Yes?” Bucky prompts, expectant.

Steve glances up at him, clearing his throat. “I was just wondering if I could…” he stops again, gesturing to his sketchpad, hoping that makes his intentions clear.

“Oh,” Bucky says, and then doesn’t offer anything more than that.

Steve shakes his head, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Never mind, it’s a stupid idea.”

“It isn’t,” Bucky argues, moving so he’s sitting on the floor, legs crossed under him. “It’s just—”

“You don’t want me to do it,” Steve finishes for him, embarrassment and disappointment curling in his gut. “It’s okay.”

Bucky frowns. “It’s not that.”

“You don’t have to make up an ex—”

“It’s not an excuse,” Bucky interrupts him, and then raises a hand when Steve opens his mouth to speak again. “Can you just let me explain?”

“You don’t have—”

“I _want to_ ,” Bucky cuts him off again, jaw clenched. “So will you please _let me_?”

Steve presses his lips together, arms crossed over his chest. He nods once, forcing himself not to speak, not to get up and go hide in their room.

“It would be an honor,” Bucky stars, oddly formal in the way he gets whenever he’s saying something important, “to have you draw me. For you to even consider me good enough to… It’s an honor.”

“But?”

“ _But_ ,” Bucky continues after a moment of hesitation, “I’ve become very good at avoiding anything that captures my likeness. It is one of the things about living on the run, one of the things about living as an _angel_ on the run. Photographs, paintings, sketches, they can end up in the wrong hands.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes out, the air rushing out of him as the pieces snap into place. “ _Oh_.”

“I would love to pose for you,” Bucky tells him, tucking his hair behind his ear. “But it’s not wise.”

“I understand,” Steve says, at the same time a little piece of his heart breaks.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, shoulders slumping a little. “I am. It’d be really nice to do that with you, but…”

“Hey.” Steve slides down to the floor, kneeling in front of Bucky, his hands framing Bucky’s cheeks. “I get it. I said it was stupid, anyway.”

Bucky makes a little offended sound in the back of his throat, hands falling to Steve’s waist. “It’s not stupid.”

“Sure.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Bucky argues, fierce and protective. “Sure, posing is kind of boring and it can get painful after a while, but it’s a great experience. I wish I could share it with you.”

All Steve can do is smile at him, heart flipping in his chest. It is a bit upsetting, but Steve would rather have Bucky and not be able to sketch him than not have him at all. As it is, he doesn’t say anything, just tugs Bucky forward and brushes their lips together. It’s a deep kiss, a sweet kiss, and it lasts for a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have a chapter count! i'm 98% sure the story will be complete at 17 chapters, as i only have 2 more to write :P if i somehow manage to do that soon, updates will happen twice a week instead of only once. send me good vibes pls ~


	10. Sunshine

The air is cold and crisp outside, stinging Steve’s cheeks and nose as he walks. The thin layer of snow covering the ground crunches beneath his feet, and for a second Steve considers going back to bed. That is where he left Bucky this morning before going on his walk; warm and sleepy and with the blankets wrapped around his waist, his wings stretched and occupying most of the bed.

It is tempting, the picture Bucky makes in Steve’s mind. But so is the world outside, the woods and snow and blue skies.

Steve follows the same path he has walked since he started venturing out of the cabin on his own. The trees are as familiar to him as the walls that make up his new home, and Steve finds peace under the shade they provide.

And because he is so familiar with it, the woods that surround his home, Steve also notices something that does not belong.

The hawk flies a few feet above him, circling the trees as Steve walks by them. It’s like he’s following Steve, paying attention to where he goes, keeping Steve on his line of sight.

Steve doesn’t know much about birds, but he knows that is not usual bird behavior.

The situation only gets worse when Steve darts in between two trees and sees the hawk dipping to follow, letting out a soft caw, almost as if asking Steve where he’s going. That makes Steve stop, wings tense and body braced for a fight.

The hawk appears between the trees, beady eyes glued to Steve. He perches on top of one of the branches, wings folding against his sides, looking at if he’s waiting for something. Steve just stares back at him, unwilling to look away in case something happens.

Steve doesn’t know much about birds, but he knows that hawk is not a bird at all.

They both stare at each other, hawk and angel, not wanting to be the first one to break eye contact. Steve is so focused on him that he stops paying attention to everything else, forgetting Bucky’s lesson to always be aware of his surroundings.

At least, until someone says, “Clint, stop being an idiot.”

Later, Steve will be ashamed of the way he startles and jumps, wings snapping and hitting the trunk of the trees closest to him, pain radiating from the tips all the way down to his back. As it is, all he can do is be thankful that Natasha is the one who found him, and not someone with less than savory intentions.

“Natasha?” Steve asks, rubbing at the end of his wings and ignoring the amused tilt of her smile when she faces him.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” Steve answers, too surprised not to say anything back. “Clint?”

The hawk caws again, and Steve turns just in time to see him shift from a bird into a man with sandy blond hair and a kind smile. A man who is not wearing a stitch of clothing.

“Barton,” Natasha sighs, a blur of fabric thrown in between them and hitting Clint in the face. “Please get dressed.”

“Aw, clothes,” Clint murmurs, trying to save his pants from the snow-covered ground.

Steve bites down on the inside of his cheek and glances up, both to help Clint preserve his modesty — which, being a shifter, Steve knows he cares little about — and also to keep himself from laughing. He’s grateful once again this is Natasha, and not someone else witnessing this mess.

“Hello again,” Natasha says, calling Steve’s attention to her.

Steve avoids looking in Clint’s direction, instead focusing on Natasha. He knows out of the two of them, Natasha is the one he should fear having at his back. “Hi.”

“I see you’ve met my husband,” Natasha says, cold eyes softening for a brief second.

Steve, despite himself, smiles a little, small and dry. “We haven’t been properly introduced.”

“I’m Clint Barton,” Clint says, now dressed in dark gray sweats and a purple knit sweater. He offers Steve a hand, smiling at him when Steve shakes it.

“Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Clint grins at him, before coming to stand beside Natasha. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Steve glances at Natasha, who keeps her face impassive. He doesn’t know if she’s the one who’s been talking about him, or if Clint heard something from Bucky. By the way Clint is grinning, Steve figures it’s best if he’s kept in the dark.

“Are you here for Bucky?” Steve asks instead, stomach churning unpleasantly.

“No.” Natasha shakes her head, red hair falling around her pale shoulders. “We’re here for you.”

Steve wonders, briefly, if the cold he feels running down his spine comes from her or from his own self-preservation instinct. Whatever it is, he decides to ignore it.

“Oh,” Steve mumbles, blinking a few times. “Okay. Would you… like to come to the house?”

Steve feels a little weird asking, but he knows that if Clint and Natasha can find him in the woods this close to the cabin, they certainly know the place Bucky calls home. That seems to be the right answer, in any case, as it makes Natasha’s expression a little less cold and a little more inviting.

“We would love to,” Natasha says, gesturing for Steve to walk ahead. “Lead the way.”

Steve does, and soon enough they are nearing the cabin, Natasha’s footsteps silent in the snow. Steve tries to ignore her obvious affinity for it; the cold, the snow, the death that comes with winter. Mostly, he succeeds.

“We should be quiet,” Steve murmurs, unlocking the front door. “Bucky’s still asleep.”

He leads Natasha and Clint to the kitchen, the room furthest away from the bedroom. Clint perks up when he sees the leftover cookies on a plate on top of the counter, but stops himself from reaching over and grabbing some.

“Bucky would hunt me down and kill me,” Clint explains when Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “And then Nat would have to hunt him down and kill _him_.”

Steve looks at Natasha with wide eyes, ice settling in his stomach when he nods. “Maybe I should put them away,” he says, grabbing the plate of cookies. “We do have cereal, though.”

“Chocolate crunch?” Clint asks, licking his lips.

Steve grabs the box and waves it around, snorting when Clint makes grabby hands at him. Natasha rolls her eyes at them, but opens her mouth when Clint throws a crunch at her, catching it in the air.

“Would you like something to drink?” Steve asks, the weight of being a good host settling uncomfortably on his shoulders.

It has been a very long time since he’s had to do anything like this, and he’s not sure he enjoys it. He’s come to love the solitude brought to him and Bucky by living away from civilization, especially as loneliness does not choke him anymore.

This, having others in his home, is a bit unsettling.

“Ice water is fine,” Natasha replies, accepting the glass Steve gives her a minute later. “Clint?”

“I’m good,” Clint says through a mouthful of cereal, giving Steve a thumbs up.

Steve grabs a chair and sits down by the counter, across from Natasha and Clint. “You said you’re here for me?”

“We are.” Natasha nods, taking a sip of her drink. “You have questions for us.”

Steve blinks, a little at a loss.

“About the _bond_ ,” Clint clarifies, stealing Nat’s glass and taking a big gulp. She doesn’t even blink at that, gaze glued to Steve.

“Oh,” Steve says for the second time that morning, sounding small and shocked. “ _Oh_.”

“It is private,” Natasha tells him, hands folded over the table, “but some things we are willing to share.”

“What she means is,” Clint starts, putting the box of cereal down, “don’t ask us how it happened. We won’t tell you that. But you can ask us about how it works and what it feels like.”

Steve swallows, gaze falling down to his hands. He does not need to know how it happened to understand what it is like. He is aware bonding is something private, and he does not want to intrude or have Natasha and Clint share that moment with him.

“How does it work?”

“Do you remember when you bound yourself to these lands?” Natasha asks him, and waits for Steve’s nods before she continues, “It works in the same kind of way.”

“It is a promise,” Steve says slowly, sorting things out in his head.

“It is a vow,” Natasha corrects him, patient but not very kind. “An unbreakable one.”

Clint curls an arm around Natasha’s shoulders, his cheek resting on top of her head. “It’s forever. There’s no turning back after you bond.”

Natasha smiles again, small and fond and deadly. “And forever, for some of us, means a very long time.”

Steve lets out a shaky breath, the weight of those words hitting him straight in the chest. Forever, for angels like him and Bucky, could mean anything from decades to thousands of years.

“I understand,” Steve says, because he does. He might have some trouble grasping the enormity of it, but he gets the implications.

Especially the one that comes with Natasha’s smile.

“Good,” Natasha says, leaning against Clint. “Now ask us what it feels like.”

Steve, not liking being told what to do but knowing better than to argue with someone who can kill him without blinking, asks, “What does it feel like?”

“Sunshine,” Natasha answers, lips turning down in disgust.

Steve is so surprised by the emotion she lets show on her face that he snorts, unable to stop himself until it is too late. “Sunshine?”

Natasha still looks displeased, so Clint is the one who says, “It’s warmth, right in the middle of your chest, down to your very soul.” He grins, dropping a kiss to Natasha’s forehead. “Nat doesn’t like warmth.”

“It is against my nature,” Natasha sighs. “The cold is a better friend.”

“I’m the better lover, though,” Clint teases, yelping when Natasha touches a finger to his cheek, frosting the stubble there. “Aw, _cold_.”

Natasha smirks, quick and sharp, before schooling her face into a blank expression. Steve glances from her and Clint, fascinated.

“Can you...” Steve trails off, suddenly shy when Clint and Natasha both turn to him.

“Can we?” Clint prompts, still rubbing at his cheek.

“Feel what the other is—”

“That is private,” Natasha shuts him down, which is an answer in and of itself.

Bonding, it seems, means sharing your very own soul with someone else.

 

**

 

It is an intriguing, if very scary, idea to share your soul with someone.

Or so Steve thinks. When he shares so much of his life with Bucky already, it kind of seems like the logical next step.

But Steve is not sure he is ready for forever and what it means. At least not yet.

 

**

 

“Whaaa…” Bucky slurs, voice thick with sleep, as he skids to a stop at the kitchen door. He blinks, rubbing his knuckles against his eyes as he looks from Steve to Natasha to Clint and back again.

“You have very good taste in cereals,” Clint informs him, hugging the chocolate crunch box to his chest.

Bucky opens and closes his mouth twice, at a loss for words. Steve hides a smile behind his own glass of water, watching as Bucky becomes more and more alert. He has pillow imprints on his cheek, his long hair looking like a bird’s nest and curling around his ears, and he’s wearing one of Steve’s old shirts.

“What’s up?” Bucky asks them, eyes narrowed. “And you better not have eaten all of it, Barton.”

“I didn’t.” Clint shrugs, looking down at the box. “Only most of it.”

Bucky groans, scrubbing a hand over his face as he flops down on an empty chair beside Steve, their wings touching.

“We were here to see Steve,” Natasha tells him, ignoring the way Bucky tenses in suspicion. “And now we are here to see you.”

“What did you want to see Steve for?” Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, using the black tie he keeps around his wrist to make a bun at the top of his head.

“Gossip,” Clint pipes up before Steve can say anything. “I heard from Sam you got yourself a boyfriend, and I wanted to meet him.”

“From Sam?” Bucky raises an eyebrow, head tilted in Natasha’s direction.

“From Sam,” Clint confirms. “Nat doesn’t gossip.”

Bucky snorts, undignified and disbelieving. “Right. Let’s pretend I believe that.”

“I think it is best.” Natasha nods in approval.

Bucky glances at Steve, still unconvinced and a little bit curious. He doesn’t voice a question, but Steve knows what he is asking.

“Everything’s okay,” Steve says, and couples the answer with a sweet kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky’s cheeks take on a light pink tinge, but he sighs and nods. “Okay, I don’t need to know.”

“You will,” Natasha muses, knowing eyes moving to Steve. “Not now, but you will.”

Steve is the one who blushes this time around, squirming a little in his seat. There is knowledge in Natasha’s words, more than Steve is comfortable with. He thinks when it comes to Natasha, that is the norm.

She always knows more than she is willing to share.

“What do you have for me?” Bucky asks, resting his chin on his hand.

Natasha mirrors his position. “The panthers need help. They are willing to pay.”

Bucky blinks, the relaxed way he was holding himself changing into something else. He straightens in his seat, shoulders tense and cold eyes alert. “I see.”

Natasha presses her lips together, expression hardening. Steve feels the air around them turn colder. In Natasha’s hand, the water left in the glass solidifies into ice.

“James,” Natasha says. It is only one word, but it sounds as sharp as a knife.

Bucky sighs, slumping a little into himself. His left wing curls closer around Steve’s, as if asking for support. Steve shifts closer so their legs are also touching, from thigh to knee, and feels a little more of the tension bleed out from Bucky’s skin.

“Sorry,” Bucky apologizes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That was uncalled for.”

“I apologize, too.” Natasha lets go of the glass, pushing it away from her. “I know how easy it is to hold grudges, when one is as old as we are.”

“Grudges?” Steve asks, voice so low it’s almost a whisper. He knows Natasha and Bucky can hear him, and by the way Clint ducks his head, he does too.

“The panthers tried to kill him, once,” Natasha explains, not reacting when Steve reels back and stands up so fast his chair falls to the floor.

“They _what_?”

Natasha shrugs. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Steve gapes at her, and then turns to Bucky. “What?”

Bucky curls a hand around Steve wrist and pulls him down on his lap, arms secure around his waist. Steve tries not to blush but knows it is useless, the blood rushing to his neck and face. He snakes an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, hand cupping the side of his neck.

“It was a few years ago,” Bucky starts, looking down at the counter. “They thought I’d killed their king, when an angel feather was found by his body.”

Steve ignores the fact that apparently panthers have kings. “You didn’t do it.”

“Of course I didn’t.” Bucky scowls. “I don’t make it my business to go around killing others. Especially if they’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

“Who was it?” Steve asks, thumb rubbing circles at the nape of Bucky’s neck.

“One of the hydras,” Natasha says, hands curling into fists. “He was dealt with.”

“The panthers apologized, but...” Bucky makes a face, not finishing his sentence.

“You’re still offended,” Steve ends it for him, letting out a deep sigh.

“A little bit,” Bucky admits, somewhat ashamed, gaze flicking quickly to Natasha before he looks away again.

“His ego is bruised,” Clint says, smirking, “because T’Challa got so close to actually killing him.”

Steve’s wings extend behind his back, one of them coming up around Bucky, angry and protective. Natasha smiles at the display, looking young and pleased and twice as deadly, while Clint leans back in his seat, smugness practically radiating off of him.

Bucky for his turn, holds Steve closer and tucks his face against Steve’s chest, his wings rubbing themselves against Steve’s, making them shudder. “Idiot,” Bucky murmurs, lips to Steve’s collarbones. “I’m obviously fine.”

“Someone tried to kill you,” Steve argues, stomach churning at the thought.

It’s been a little over five months since they’ve met, but Steve is attached.

“It was a long time ago. And he did apologize.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky laughs, more of a puff of air than anything else, and kisses Steve’s chin. “T’Challa is the one who brought electricity to the cabin. He and some of his panthers figured out how to make it work, when I live so far away and without calling attention to myself.”

“He’s the one I have to thank for being able to take hot showers?”

Bucky grins. “If you want to.”

“If he did that, why are you still holding a grudge?”

“It’s a little bit of what Clint said,” Bucky tries to explain. “But also because… They didn’t hesitate, when they found the feather. They just— they—”

“Hunted you,” Steve whispers, a lump forming in his throat, “without a second thought, without knowing if what they found was the truth.”

Bucky smiles sadly, nuzzling Steve’s cheek. “It is not fun, being hunted.”

“It is not,” Natasha agrees, voice soft. “T’Challa made emends.”

Bucky sighs. “He did. What do they need help with?”

“Holding heavy things in the air,” Natasha answers, which does not clarify much. “They are willing to trade some books and herbs and dried meat.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky says after a few seconds, not willing to commit to anything.

“You do that.” Natasha nods. “But do not take too long.”

 

**

 

“You help others, sometimes.”

They’re lying in bed, legs tangled and heads tucked close, the night surrounding them. Steve has one of his hands on Bucky’s hair, playing with the strands, twirling them around his fingers.

“Only sometimes,” Bucky says, toe poking Steve’s ankle before he hooks one feet in between Steve’s legs, bodies pressed together. “If they need something I can provide. And if I know they won’t try anything against me.”

Steve holds Bucky closer, lips grazing his hairline. “Does the usual trade stands?” he asks, punctuating his question by running his free hand up and down the underside of Bucky’s left wing.

“No,” Bucky says, humming a little in pleasure and snuggling closer. “They ask for help, so they pay. It’s a good way to get some things without having to trade feathers for it, if I’m willing to lend them a hand.”

“And are you? This time.”

“I’m not sure,” Bucky admits, making a little sound of complaint when Steve shifts them so they’re on their sides, brows furrowed in displeasure. “ _Steve_ ,” he whines, hands gripping at Steve’s waist, trying to turn him on his back again.

Steve resits, propping himself up on an elbow so he can stare down at Bucky. “I think you should,” he says, frowning a little and ignoring when Bucky rolls his eyes. “These people asked for help when they knew you might not accept it, so it must mean they _really_ need you for something.”

Bucky huffs, giving up on sprawling on top of Steve in favor of smiling at him. It’s a crooked sad little thing of a smile, a barely there curl of lips. Bucky cups Steve’s cheek with one hand, thumb tracing at the soft skin of his cheekbone.

“You have too good of a heart,” Bucky murmurs, lifting his head up to brush his mouth against Steve’s. “It will get you into trouble, sometime.”

Steve feels the ghost of Bucky’s breath against his parted lips, and has a suspicion it already did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have news! from now on, **traveling light will be updated on wednesdays and fridays!** :D


	11. Favors

It does not come as a surprise when, a week later, Bucky comes home from visiting Natasha and says, “I’m helping the panthers.”

Steve hides his pleased smile behind the pages of a book, heart growing in his chest, knowing he is not fooling anyone. Bucky’s decision might have been his own, but Steve is aware his quiet judgemental looks and questions about it have helped.

“Smug is not a good look on you,” Bucky tells him, booping Steve on the nose as he settles down beside him on the nest of blankets in front of the fireplace. “It makes your forehead look too big.”

Steve snorts, batting Bucky’s hand away. “You just say that because you’re annoyed.”

Bucky nods, a contemplative look on his face. “You _are_ very annoying.”

Steve rolls his eyes, lightly hitting the top of Bucky’s head with his book. Bucky grins at him, placing one of their many wooden bookmarks in between the pages before dropping the book on the floor, and crowding in close.

Steve doesn’t resist the push of Bucky’s hands on his shoulders, letting himself be moved around until Bucky is on top of him, his grey-blue wings spread behind his back. Steve reaches out a hand to touch them, fingers soothing the feathers, feeling the softness of them against his skin.

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs, cupping Bucky’s cheek and pulling him down for a kiss.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Bucky says against his mouth, stealing another kiss of his own.

“Why not?” Steve asks, Bucky’s weight warm and comforting on top of him.

“Because,” Bucky starts, and then his lips stretch into a smile, slow and sharp and wicked, “you are coming with me.”

 

**

 

“Are you sure this is okay?” Steve worries at his bottom lip, wings drawn close to his body and fluttering in agitation. He runs a hand through them in a self-soothing motion that does not help, stomach churning with nerves. “Do they know I’m coming?”

“Yes, it’s fine,” Bucky tells him for the fifth time, taking Steve’s hand in his own and giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze. “And if they don’t, they’ve sure heard you by now.”

“ _Bucky_!” Steve hisses, coming to an abrupt stop and tugging Bucky back by his hand. “You didn’t tell them I’d be here?”

“He did,” comes a voice from their left, and Steve has enough control of himself and his expressions that he doesn’t startle _too_ bad. “Otherwise, we would have killed you before you crossed the boundaries of our lands.”

Steve only keeps himself from jumping as he turns around, his grip tightening on Bucky’s hand. The owner of the voice darts between the trees and approaches them, his movements slow and graceful, and his eyes glinting under the sun. Steve almost misses the twitch of his lips as he takes in the tense way Steve is holding himself, his gaze darting towards Bucky.

“T’Challa,” Bucky says, moving so he’s standing in front of Steve, his left wing brushing against Steve’s chest.

Even though Bucky says he has mostly forgiven the panthers for past transgressions, Steve can sense the obvious wariness between the two of them. It makes him lay a hand on Bucky’s back, right between his shoulder blades, a silent show of support.

“Barnes.” T’Challa nods respectfully at him, before focusing his attention back on Steve. “So it is true.”

“Yes, it is,” Bucky answers with a small smile, stepping aside. “Steve, I’d like you to meet King T’Challa.”

Steve blinks, bending his knee a little in an aborted courtesy. “Uh, Your Highness.”

Steve doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but for T’Challa to smile at him certainly isn’t it. T’Challa’s calm expression transforms as he bares his teeth in a smile, giving him an almost a boyish grace. It is then that Steve notices that T’Challa doesn’t look much older than him, although that does not mean much when it comes to shapeshifters.

“I see Samuel is right,” T’Challa muses, amusement radiating off of him, “this does explain a few things.”

Bucky makes a face at him, shuffling a little closer to Steve. “Sam needs to stop gossiping.”

T’Challa chuckles, low and a little dangerous. “I’d like to see you try and stop him.”

Bucky scowls and grumbles under his breath, which only makes T’Challa’s smile widen. Steve presses closer to Bucky’s side, their wings brushing together, a silent reminder that he’s here.

“So, Natasha said you needed my help,” Bucky changes the subject, and T’Challa’s playful expression clears.

“Yes.” T’Challa glances at their wings. “We need someone who can fly.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Why not the falcons? I know you like Sam a lot better than you like me.”

T’Challa’s lips twitch and then turn down. “Sadly, Samuel is not strong enough for what needs to be done.”

Steve watches in fascination as Bucky preens, chest puffed out and back straight, his wings stretching behind his back in a show of beauty and immense power. Steve has to bite down on the inside of his cheek not to laugh, mirth bubbling inside of him at seeing his boyfriend look so fucking pleased with himself.

“You know, I’m gonna tell him you said that,” Bucky warns T’Challa, grinning proudly.

T’Challa sighs. “I am not one to come between beings and their petty fights.”

“I bet he’ll be angry,” Bucky continues, eyes glazing over a bit as his grins sharpens. “I bet he’ll try to shift and shit on my hair.”

Steve makes a face at that, catching T’Challa’s eye. T’Challa just shakes his head and shrugs one shoulder, his lips twitching when Steve rolls his eyes.

“Can you stop thinking about antagonizing Sam for one second?” Steve asks Bucky, poking him in the ribs.

Bucky hisses and bats Steve’s hand away, pouting a little. “But it’s fun.”

“For you, maybe. For us?” Steve gestures between him and T’Challa. “Not so much.”

“Fine,” Bucky huffs, and then faces T’Challa. “What do you need us for?”

T’Challa turns around, looking back at them from over his shoulder. “Follow me.”

 

**

 

Steve knows he is now part of a secret.

The heart of the panthers’ lands is revealed to him as they walk further into the woods, the trees thick and the air hot and wet around them. He knows the panthers guard their homes with teeth and claws, and they are not afraid to kill anyone who puts them in danger.

Steve knows that if he steps out of line, he will not live long enough to regret it.

He can feel eyes boring through the back of his head as they walk, the ruffling of leaves high above him. He might not be able to see the panthers, but he knows they’re out there, following them, a silent guard as T’Challa leads them to his home.

A few of the panthers stop what they’re doing to stare at them, their eyes glinting amber under the sun. Steve tries his best not to show how uncomfortable that kind of scrutiny makes him, focusing instead on staying near Bucky as they walk. T’Challa greets everyone as they walk by, with nods and smiles and waves.

A true king amongst his people.

Bucky glances back at Steve over his shoulder, eyebrow raised in silent question. Steve gives him a small smile, letting Bucky know he’s okay. He knows very well nothing bad will happen as long as he follows the rules; plus, they need Bucky’s help, and Steve is not going to be the one to mess that up for them.

T’Challa leads them to a cluster of houses past what Steve assumes to be the main square, away from the rush of others. The houses remind Steve of his own little abandoned cabin, undoubtedly claimed by someone else by now, small and simple and enough for anyone who wishes to live a simple life.

The big difference, though, is that these houses have no roofs.

“Really?” Bucky asks as soon as he catches sight of the places, turning to T’Challa. “ _Really_?”

“There are no trees nearby we can perch on,” T’Challa tells him. “Otherwise, we could do this ourselves.”

“What are you paying me with?” Bucky asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Those plates look really heavy.”

“Bucky!” Steve doesn’t stop himself from calling out, unable to believe his ears.

“What?” Bucky grumbles, dropping his arms to the side, torn between looking ashamed and holding his ground. “They do.”

“For the panthers, maybe,” Steve argues, eyes widening when he look at T’Challa, “uh, no offense, Your Highness.”

T’Challa’s lips twitch, amused. “None taken.”

“You know we can do this with a hand tied to our backs,” Steve says to Bucky, frowning a little.

“I’d like to see that,” T’Challa murmurs under his breath, grinning when Bucky scowls at him. “I would.”

“We’re not doing that,” Bucky tells him, and then repeats it again to Steve. “We’re not. In fact, you’re not doing anything. I’m perfectly capable of doing this by myself.”

“Oh, really? I thought you said those plates looked heavy,” Steve drawls, hands resting on his hips.

Bucky’s glare is so cold and deadly it could kill someone on the spot; if only that someone wasn’t Steve. He points a fingers at Steve, wings drawn up to his body in displeasure. “I know what you’re doing.”

“T’Challa thought you could help,” Steve continues, egging Bucky on, “but if this is too much for you… I guess I can do it.”

“Steven,” Bucky says, voice low and gruff.

“ _James_ ,” Steve answers, just as serious.

Bucky’s entire self twitches, like he know what Steve is trying to do but is unable to let it go. “Fine!” he says, throwing his arms up. He turns to T’Challa, glare still firmly in place. “What do you want me to do?”

 

**

 

Steve watches, tremendously pleased with himself, as Bucky flies above him and helps some of the panthers with the roofs of what is to be a few new houses. He’s not even angry he’s been relegated to handing Bucky the plates instead of flying himself, content in watching Bucky work and help others.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Bucky grumbles when Steve hands him a plate, hovering a few feet above ground.

“Yes.” Steve grins, letting his fingers brush against Bucky’s. “Very proud.”

Bucky huffs and flies off, grey-blue wings looking almost white under the sun.

Most of the panthers don’t pay much attention to them, focusing on their work and helping with the houses. A few watch them with distrust, eyes tracking their movements, bodies braced for fighting. Others, though, stare at them with a mixture of awe and fear, gazes catching on their wings.

Steve bites down on the inside of his cheek not to smile when he hears the little giggles coming from his left whenever Bucky swoops down and catches a plate from his hands. He’s noticed the small group of kids standing just past the tree line some minutes ago, their gasps and smothered laughs reaching Steve’s ears as one of the panthers standing nearby tries to distract them.

“You have fans,” T’Challa says when he jumps down one of the roofs, falling smoothly on both feet right in front of Steve.

“Yeah, is… is that okay?” Steve hesitates, knowing how protective everyone is of their offspring.

He figures that is truer when it comes to shifters, and hopes this does not complicates things.

T’Challa nods, glancing at the kids, all looking to be between five and six years old. The kids all grin and wave at him when they catch him looking, giggling when T’Challa waves back.

“They like new things,” T’Challa says, giving Steve a pointed look, “and there is nothing newer than you.”

“Oh.” Steve flushes a little at that, wings fluttering despite themselves. A new rush of giggles can be heard from the kids, as well as a whispered ‘ _oh wow_ ’ that threatens to bring a smile to Steve’s face.

“Zuri will have a hard time distracting them while you’re here, it seems,” T’Challa comments, not looking particularly unhappy with the turn of events.

“I could… help?” Steve asks, and then winces at himself. He’s pretty sure he’s overstepping, but he can’t swallow back the words.

T’Challa blinks at him, and then tilts his head to the side, considering. “James doesn’t like kids.”

Steve flashes back to the afternoon he learned about Bucky’s name, to the little boy he couldn’t protect. “He has his reasons,” he says, and then adds, “and I’m not Bucky.”

T’Challa nods, but wisely doesn’t ask more questions. He glances back at the kids, whose eyes are glued to Bucky’s form as he flies between roofs. “Stay in sight,” he finally says. “Listen to Zuri. And no matter how many times they beg you, don’t take any of them flying.”

 

**

 

Steve approaches the kids with caution, stomach flipping when they all stare at him, eyes wide with fascination and a little bit of healthy fear. Zuri, a big and wide man that looks to be in his mid-fifties, narrows his eyes at him, but doesn’t stop him from coming closer.

“Hello,” Steve tries, pressing his lips together when the kids gasp, their little mouths dropping open. “I’m Steve.”

A few seconds of silence stretch between them, with Steve shifting uncomfortably in place and the kids staring at him. It isn’t until Zuri sighs and claps his hands that the kids break out of their daze, almost jumping in place.

“Well, where are your manners?” Zuri asks them. “Introduce yourselves.”

The next couple of minutes are filled with a jumble of tiny little voices yelling out names at Steve, who does his best to remember them all. Some of the kids hold tight to the fabric of Zuri’s pants, faces hidden against his legs, only glancing at Steve long enough to speak once before they’re hiding again.

Steve does his best to hold himself as relaxed as possible, trying to exude calm and peace. He doesn’t want the kids to see him as a threat, to be scared when they don’t need to be. So he sits down in front of them, pants getting stained with dirt, his wings extending behind his back.

“Do they hurt?” Azari asks, one of the bravest of the bunch, his eyes flickering to Steve’s wings.

“No.” Steve shakes his head, not wanting to tell the kids that when he got his wings, it was the worst kind of pain he’s ever felt. “They’re just another part of me. Like my arms and legs and tongue,” Steve says, sticking his tongue out at the end and making the kids laugh.

“Can we touch it?” Azari leans forward, already reaching out a hand before Steve can answer.

Zuri grabs him by the collar of his shirt, gently pulling him back. “Don’t be rude, boy. We don’t go asking people if we can touch their wings.”

“Uncle Sam lets us,” Azari argues, crossing his arms over his chest and getting nods from the other kids.

“Wilson is a bird,” Zuri snorts. “Birds have no sense.”

Steve can’t contain a laugh then, spilling it out past his lips. Zuri raises an eyebrow at him, eyes glinting. “I see you agree.”

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “I like Sam.”

“Me too!” Azari grins, trying to squirm away from Zuri’s hold. “So, can we touch it?”

Steve regards the kids, unable to resist their eager eyes and giddy smiles. “If you promise to be careful.”

The kids cheer, bringing the attention of some of the panthers to the group. Steve tenses a little, but relaxes once again when Zuri raises his hand in a soothing gesture, letting everyone know they are fine.

Each of the kids slowly inch forward, brows furrowed in concentration as they rest their fingers on Steve’s wings. Their touch a little rougher then Steve’s used to, more like he’s being poked than anything, but he holds still and lets the kids have fun.

“Wow,” Azari whispers, eyes round and excited. “ _Cool_.”

While the kids are distracted with his wings, Steve notices one of the girls is still clutching tight at Zuri’s pant leg, not making any moves to come forward. She looks to be a little younger than the rest, her curly hair in a ponytail like a little fluffy cloud on top of her head. Her other hand is gripping at a sheet of paper and a blue crayon, and Steve can make out some lines that look like wings.

“That’s a really pretty drawing,” Steve tells her, pointing at the paper but not coming any closer.

The girl blinks at him once before glancing down at her picture, holding it closer to her chest.

“Okoye is our little artist,” Zuri says, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

Okoye nods, a shy little thing.

“She makes really good drawings for a kid,” Azari pipes up, coming up from around Steve and plopping down on the floor. The other kids follow him, all sitting around Zuri once again, their little faces alight with happiness.

Steve doesn’t comment on the ‘kid’ part of Azari’s statement, who can’t be more than a year or two older than Okoye. “Were you guys drawing before I came here?”

Zuri huffs out a laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners. “They weren’t doing much of anything but stare.”

“Angels are cool!” Azari states, getting cheers from the other kids.

Steve grins at that, happiness blooming in his chest. “Yeah?”

The kids nod, and Steve doesn’t stop himself from saying, “I think _panthers_ are cool.”

“Well, duh.” Azari looks at him like he’s an idiot, making Steve laugh. “Panthers are the _coolest_.”

Zuri nods along, raising an eyebrow at Steve as if daring him to argue. Steve doesn’t, knowing better than to make his case for angels when he’s outnumbered. Instead he directs everyone’s attention to the crayons lying abandoned near Zuri, close to blank sheets of paper.

“Why don’t you guys show me your drawings?” Steve asks them. “And maybe I could borrow some crayons?”

Steve’s barely done speaking when the kids practically pile up on Zuri, reach grabbing a crayon and a sheet of paper to draw on. Azari hands Steve a purple crayon and his own little piece of paper, patting Steve on the wrist before he sits down on the ground again, tongue poking out between his teeth as he gets to work.

Steve smiles at him before he glances quickly at Okoye, who lets go of Zuri’s leg and stares around. Steve goes back to his paper, letting the familiar feel of drawing rush over him. He’s a lot rusty, and drawing with a crayon is different than what he’s used to, but soon enough he starts tracing lines on the paper.

It’s a few minutes later when he feels someone sit down next to him, his blank expression transforming into a smile as Okoye leans over his arm and stares down at his drawing.

“You’re an artist?” Okoye asks, voice soft and shy.

Steve’s swallows around a lump in his throat. No one’s called him that in a long time, and Steve is not sure he is willing to reclaim that title for himself. “I guess so,” he tells her, and then gives her a small smile. “Not as good as you, though.”

Okoye preens, setting down her paper on the ground. “Draw with me.”

Steve laughs, and does as he’s told.

 

**

 

Steve doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings when he’s drawing with the kids. He lets calm wash over him as he sketches, committing the scene to paper with purple crayon, the happy face of each child taking shape under the lines.

Steve doesn’t pay attention, so he doesn’t see Bucky, T’Challa, and a few of the other panthers approaching. Their gazes fall on them, taking in the silence and concentration of the small group with interested, trying to sneak glances past their shoulders at the drawings.

Steve doesn’t pay attention, so he doesn’t see the widening of eyes as they take in Steve’s drawing, doesn’t see the impressed looks, doesn’t hear the whispers of appreciation that run through. In fact, Steve doesn’t snap out of it until he feels a hand on his shoulder, Bucky’s familiar touch bringing him back to reality.

“Hi,” Steve rasps out. “Okoye and I are drawing.”

Bucky smiles at him, soft and kind and fond. “I think you’re drawing and Okoye is taking a nap.”

Steve blinks once, movements slow as he stares at Okoye, who is not drawing but leaning heavily against his side and dozing off. Most of the kids are in similar states, leaning against each other and cuddling in a big pile, all deep asleep. “Oh,” he says, frowning when he hears Bucky and the panthers laugh. “I guess I got distracted.”

“I see that you did,” T’Challa says, eyes never leaving Steve’s sketch. “I didn’t know you’re an artist.”

Steve’s lips turn down. “I’m not, really.”

“That is too bad,” T’Challa says, gently taking Steve’s drawing and showing it to the other panthers.

“Why’s that?” Steve asks, watching as the panthers smile and nod and touch the sketch, their obvious love for Steve’s work making him a little nervous.

“Because,” T’Challa starts, glancing around him once before he turns back to Steve, “we’d be interested in commissions.”

Bucky makes a little victorious sound in the back of his throat, only barely managing to school his smug expression when Steve looks at him. Bucky’s entire face looks wrong as he obviously tries not to beam like a proud idiot, which in turn makes Steve’s nervousness abate a little.

“Commissions?” Steve asks T’Challa, happy when his voice doesn’t weaver.

“Your work is beautiful,” T’Challa answers. “We have artists, but not the kind that do what you do. We’d be willing to pay you, in the way we do when James comes to our aid.”

Steve stares at T’Challa, mind running a thousand miles per minute as he takes in the implications of that offer. So far, Bucky is the only one who’s made trades and worked to keep their kitchen filled with food and their home warm during the colder nights. Steve knows most of that is because Bucky is used to leaving alone, but he knows there is an added strain now that they’re sharing a house.

It makes him feel like a burden, sometimes.

This is Steve’s chance to contribute. This is his chance to help. This is his chance of making it clear to Bucky that they’re in this together.

“Yes,” Steve tells T’Challa, already making a mental list of what he needs, “I think we can work something out.”


	12. Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** for minor talk of affection-erections starting at the second break and ending at the third one :D

The month passes in a blur of charcoal, blank pages, and panthers. More than one family requests a portrait from Steve, of their sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, and long lost relatives.

Steve loses hours upon hours drawing, finally making use of the little corner Bucky set up for him near one of the big living room windows. Steve clips the photos he uses for reference, and works on his commissions while Bucky naps, makes them a snack, or watches movies in the new portable DVD player T’Challa traded, along with some herbs and books, for Bucky’s help.

It is easier to create art when it is not purely for pleasure. The weight of the world and his Ma’s long-gone encouraging words don’t hang on Steve’s shoulders, and he is free to paint when he knows it means bringing food to the table.

Little by little, Steve stops feeling guilty about it. Art stops being something colored by sadness, and instead becomes a new driving force in Steve’s life. Little by little, Steve reclaims this little piece of himself.

 

**

 

“Steve.”

Steve hums, brows furrowed as he concentrates on getting the curls of Okoye’s hair just right. Time is slow around him, his eyes focused solely on the blank canvas in front of him, gaze flickering to the picture of Okoye’s family that her mom provided as reference.

Maybe if he makes a little swirl he can…

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky says again, this time followed by resting a heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“What? Yeah?” Steve turns to him, distracted, attention still on his work. At least until Bucky boops him on the nose, his finger cold and a little wet. “Hey!”

“Pay attention to me,” Bucky tells him, sounding more amused than upset.

“But I need…” Steve glances back towards the panting, fingers itching to keep going.

“Steve,” Bucky sighs, hand moving from Steve’s shoulders to the side of his neck, “it’ll keep. C’mon.”

Steve huffs, lips twitching up at the corners as he looks back at Bucky. “Yes, dearest?”

Bucky presses his lips together, making an effort not to laugh. “Taking you with me to meet the panthers was a mistake.”

“You mean it was the best idea you’ve had since I met you,” Steve corrects him, sliding his hands up Bucky’s thighs so they rest on his waist.

“Nope.” Bucky shakes his head, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Definitely the worst.”

Steve snorts, closing the distance between them so he can press his head against Bucky’s stomach. “What do you need?”

“I need you to take a break,” Bucky answers, nails scratching at the back of Steve’s neck and making him shiver. “It’s past lunch time. You need to eat something.”

Steve hums, feeling the stabs of hunger in his stomach now that Bucky’s mentioned food. He figures he can spare a few minutes to eat, especially when that’ll give him the energy to keep going. “Do I have to cook something?”

“As luck would have it, you don’t. I made you one of those club sandwiches you love so much.”

Steve kisses Bucky’s tummy and pulls back, staring up at him with a smile. “You’re so good to me.”

“Yes, I am.” Bucky nods, batting his lashes. “You should make it up to me by giving me a massage.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, pushing Bucky away a little so he can stand up. “A massage?”

“Yes. I did a lot of work today.”

“I’m sure spreading mayo on toast takes a lot of work.”

“It’s an art form, Stevie,” Bucky says, grinning as he wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulder. “I have to make sure both sides have the same amount of mayo. You wouldn’t want soggy bread.”

“I wouldn’t,” Steve agrees, kissing Bucky on the tip of his nose. “Eat with me?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “As if I’d let you eat alone.”

Steve moans at the first bite of his sandwich, the rich flavors bursting on his tongue. “You’re the best,” he says, mouth full.

“And you’re gross,” Bucky sighs, sounding all kinds of fond, as he reaches a hand and wipes the bit of mayo clinging to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Have manners, please.”

Steve makes a face at him, and then pointedly opens his mouth and presents Bucky with the amazing sight of his club sandwich, half-chewed. Bucky doesn’t even bat an eye, instead focusing on his own grilled cheese.

“I’ve seen worst things in my life,” Bucky informs him. “That doesn’t even make it to the top hundred.”

Steve swallows his food, knowing Bucky is making a joke but also not wanting to make light of his words. Steve is very aware Bucky has lived a hard life, and has experiences so gruesome they have left a mark. So, he changes the subject.

“Thank you for lunch, Buck,” Steve says, finding Bucky’s feet under the table and tangling their legs together.

Bucky smiles at him, soft and sweet. “Anytime.”

Steve kisses Bucky after they’re done eating, slow and thankful, before going back to his work. He burns another three hours with the painting, watching it as it takes form under his hands. He makes sure to stop and stretch when he needs to, sometimes relying on Bucky to remember him to do so.

It takes some time before Steve feels like he’s done enough for the day. Even so, as he stares at his art with a critical eye, he’s not entirely satisfied with the way things are going. If he’s being honest, he doubts he ever will be.

All Steve can do is try his best. And hope the panthers like what he has to offer.

Steve goes in search for Bucky, padding through the cabin and tiding up as he goes. Bucky isn’t the neatest of angels, and Steve’s lost count of how many times he’s found clothes thrown over furniture or throw pillows lying on the floor.

“Buck?” Steve calls out, grabbing one of Bucky’s sweaters and folding it against his chest. There’s no answer, which means Bucky is either taking his fourth nap of the day or he’s too focused on something else.

It turns out to be the latter, and Steve can’t help but smile as he leans against the door to their room. Bucky is sprawled on the bed, DVD player balanced on his stomach, his eyes a little wide and mouth parted as he watches the screen. Steve can make out the faint sound of music coming from it, which means Bucky is probably watching one of his favorite animated movies.

Steve silently makes his way towards the bed, even though he knows Bucky’s too distracted to notice. Bucky doesn’t glance up from his movie when Steve lies down next to him, but he leans towards Steve, snuggling against his side.

“What are we watching?” Steve asks, kissing Bucky’s temple, their wings curling together to make a soft bed for them to lie on.

“Simba just found Nala again,” Bucky replies, pulling one of Steve’s arms around him. “He found his friend.”

Steve hides a smile against Bucky’s hair, settling in for the long run. Bucky’s fallen in love with movies, especially the animated ones, and can spend hours and hours with his eyes glued to the screen.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve asks, nuzzling at Bucky’s hairline.

“Hm?” Bucky prompts, distracted.

Steve grins, eyes closed as he says, “Can you feel the love tonight?”

Bucky goes still against him, fingers tight where they’re holding on to Steve’s arm. “I can, but you won’t be able to if you don’t shut up.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, dropping a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “Rude.”

“Watch the movie and cuddle me,” Bucky tells him, smiling a little.

“You don’t want your massage?”

Bucky blinks, still not looking away from the movie, but he squirms a little in place, rubbing his toes against Steve’s shin. “Later, please.”

“Later it is,” Steve agrees, and holds Bucky close.

 

**

 

Bucky groans softly, wings twitching as Steve digs his fingers into the small of Bucky’s back. The DVD player sits on their nightstand, turned off and away from Bucky’s wings, while Bucky lies on his stomach on the bed, Steve straddling his thighs.

“Okay?” Steve asks, hands eager on Bucky’s skin, loving being able to touch him like this.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes out, arching into Steve’s touch. “So okay.”

Steve laughs a little, hands busy as he goes back to massaging Bucky’s back, rubbing away the knots and tension. Carrying wings is not easy work, and their muscles get a bit sore and achy sometimes. Bucky hums again, a happy little sound as Steve works his way up Bucky’s back, fingers thumbing at the base of his wings.

Steve bites down on his bottom lip, heat coiling in his gut, doing his best not to moan in response. He didn’t know he’d find this so hot: Bucky, shirtless and under him, pliant and happy and making these wonderful little noises whenever Steve touches him.

Bucky’s skin and smooth and hot under Steve’s hands, his wings spread out and glinting blue-silver under their bedroom light. He’s beautiful, and it hurts Steve to look at him.

Steve shifts above Bucky, bracing himself on his knees so as not to press his hardening dick against Bucky’s ass. They haven’t exactly had a conversation about sex or done anything more than cuddle and makeout yet, and Steve doesn’t want to bring it up. At least not now. Not when it’s time for Bucky to relax, instead of having his boyfriend rub up on him.

So Steve does his best to think of yellow eyes and the freezing lake water Bucky saved him from, trying to will his erection away. He’s not very successful, not that he was expecting anything else. Not when he has Bucky like this, soft and warm and seeking Steve’s touch.

Steve doesn’t fight the urge to kiss Bucky, in the end, bending down and pressing his lips to the nape of Bucky’s neck, Bucky’s hair tickling his nose. He can indulge a little, especially when the gesture brings a smile to Bucky’s pink lips, Bucky’s wings raising and touching Steve’s own.

“It’s massage time, not kissing time,” Bucky argues, no heat to his words.

Steve kisses Bucky’s sharp cheek. “Can kissing time be next?”

“I guess,” Bucky teases, smirking. “If you insist.”

And Steve does, finishing Bucky’s massage a few minutes later by pressing a kiss between his shoulderblades, right where feathers meet skin.

 

**

 

Steve stares at the panting, the colors and shapes and smiles staring back at him, vibrant and happy. He’s a little dazed, hands and arms speckled with paint, hair a mess and back hurting.

He can’t believe he’s done.

He can’t believe he _finally_ finished it.

“Bucky!” Steve yells, pushing his chair back and standing up on shaky legs, eyes never leaving the painting.

Bucky comes running from outside, cheeks flushed and hair wind-blown. ‘What? What is it?”

“It’s done,” Steve says, astonished. “I… It’s done.”

“You…” Bucky looks from Steve to the painting, concerned expression giving away to surprise. Steve sees the shine on Bucky’s eyes as he stares at the finished product, the way the lines around his mouth soften. Okoye’s family stares back at them, an almost perfect replica of the picture Okoye’s mother gave Steve some time ago. “Steve, this is beautiful.”

Steve shakes his head, not finding the words. In the end, he doesn’t need to. A second later he feels Bucky’s arms around his waist, hugging him and holding him up. All Steve can do is hug back, face hidden against Bucky’s neck, wishing his Ma was there to see him find himself and his art again.

 

**

 

Okoye is the one who greets Steve when they arrive, accompanied by Zuri, all dimpled smiles and happy bouncy steps. She hugs his legs as soon as Steve’s close enough, her grip tight and sure.

“Hi,” Steve greets her, a big hand curling over her back.

Okoye’s parents nods their hellos, not as excited as Okoye is to see him. They still look expectantly up at him, amber gazes flicking to the covered frame Bucky holds in his hands.

“Why don’t we all go inside?” Zuri suggests, following behind Steve and Bucky as is his job as chaperone.

Just because Steve has business with the panthers, doesn’t mean he’s allowed to be there without supervision.

“I hope you like it,” Steve tells them as he helps Bucky uncover the painting, his palms sweaty and heart beating in his throat.

Okoye gasps when she sees the painting, the reaction matching those of her parents and Zuri. “So pretty!” she says, grinning widely as she points at her own face. “That’s me!”

Steve laughs a relieved kind of laugh, shoulders slumping as Okoye’s father claps him on the back and thanks him for his work. Steve can hardly believe how much they seem to love it, how much they seem to be blown away by his art.

Bucky catches Steve’s gaze while Okoye’s mom hugs him again. Steve’s breath catches in his throat at the look in Bucky’s eyes, pride burning bright under the giddy smile he gives Steve. It brings another smile to Steve’s face, wide and pleased and happy.

It stays there all the way home, and long into the night.

 

**

 

The clouds part.

After seeing the happiness he brought to Okoye’s family, Steve falls back into his art. He experiments with different styles and colors, putting to paper everything and anything he can think of.

It is like Steve is discovering himself all over again, what he loves and dislikes, getting lost in possibilities. He loves every single moment of it.

There is always a constant, Steve realizes, as he sketches and draws and gets his fingers dirty with paint and charcoal. He recognizes the slope of Bucky’s back, the sharpness of his jaw, the curve of his smile; all things Steve draws without giving away Bucky’s full face and the beauty of his wings.

Steve sees all these different ways in which Bucky manifests himself in his art. Always there, in one form or another.

And Steve suspects all the different ways in which he is, in fact, drawing something he loves.

 

**

 

“Are elves real?” Steve asks, frowning down at Bucky’s battered copy of _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , his chin hooked over Bucky’s shoulder.

They’re on the porch, cuddling on the small swing Bucky installed about two months ago, the afternoon sun warming their tangled legs. It’s warm enough outside that they can enjoy the afternoon, wrapped up in each other, with Bucky reading to Steve as Steve slowly moves the swing back and forth.

“Yes,” Bucky answers, marking down the line he was reading with the tip of his finger. “So are dwarves, although I’ve never met one.”

“Orcs?”

“Nope.” Bucky shakes his head. “But there’s a troll that lives near the mountains.”

“They warned me about him,” Steve says, kissing Bucky’s shoulder. “What about evil wizards?”

“In the world, yes,” Bucky says slowly, “but here? No. Wanda, the witch who lives at the edge of town, would kill them before they could draw a breath.”

“She is not the only one.”

Steve and Bucky both turn to see Natasha walking down the worn down path to their cabin. She’s clutching a small box in her hands, her face impassive, but she smiles a little when she steps onto the porch.

“No, she isn’t,” Bucky agrees with her, bookmarking his place in the book and lying it down on the swing. “Hi, Nat.”

“Hello.” Natasha nods at them, her red hair brushing her cheek as a faint breeze blows through. “Steve, I need to talk to you.”

Steve untangles himself from Bucky, much to his displeasure. He straightens in his seat, moving so he’s facing Nat, Bucky’s thigh pressed to his. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Natasha says, and then extends the box to him. “This is for you.”

Steve hesitantly grabs the box, setting it down on his lap. He doesn’t open it right away, his fingers tracing the edges of it, scared of what might be inside.

“What’s in it?” Bucky asks, clearly just as suspicious as Steve.

“Your future,” Nat says without pause, lips curling up at the sides when Bucky just blinks at her and Steve stares, wide-eyed.

“Now is not the time to be cryptic,” Bucky tells her, scowling.

“Isn't it?” Natasha throws back, her eyes glinting under the sun.

Bucky rolls his eyes at her. “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?”

“I did,” Natasha replies, lips curling up at the corners. “You didn’t listen.”

Bucky huffs and opens his mouth to say something else, but Steve elbows him in the stomach. “Rude,” Bucky mumbles, poking Steve in the ribs.

Steve doesn’t so much as twitch, busy holding the lip and opening the box. “What?” Steve wonders out loud, eyes falling to the dozens of tiny folded pieces of paper kept inside. “What’s this?”

“Your fu—”

“Future, yes, so you’ve said,” Bucky interrupts her, and a second later the air grows a bit colder around them, dangerous and marking Natasha’s displeasure. “Sorry.”

“I accept your apology,” Natasha says, the cold going away just as fast as it appeared. “You should read them.”

Steve presses his lips together, knowing better than to ask questions. He picks up one of the pieces and unfolds it, eyes scanning over the words scribbled in blue ink. “Oh,” Steve says, dropping the paper and picking up another one, reading most of the same words. “ _Oh._ ”

Each and every note are requests, all for the same kind of thing: if possible, could Natasha contact the artist who did the painting for the panthers, because they would like to commission something for themselves.

“Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, reading the notes over Steve’s shoulder.

“Why? How?” Steve asks, overwhelmed as he stares down at the box.

Natasha is right. This could well be his future.

“Talent like yours never stays hidden for long,” Natasha says, looking and sounding pleased. “The panthers were impressed. Word spread around about an artist living near the mountains. An artist who can create life with flicks of his brush.”

Steve lets out a shaky breath, shaking his head. “I don’t…”

“You do.” Natasha takes a step closer, her cold fingers brushing against the back of Steve’s hand. “Believe me, you do.”

Steve swallows around a lump in his throat, blinking away the wetness in his eyes. Bucky shifts closer to him, one of his hands firmly pressed in between Steve’s shoulder blades, reminding Steve that he’s not alone.

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve admits, words rushing out of him in a whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything, not right now.” Natasha takes back her hand. “Just think about it.”

“He will,” Bucky promises her, his fingers digging into Steve’s back.

Steve continues to stare down at his lap, unaware of the moment Natasha leaves. Then it is only him, Bucky, and people’s wishes in a box.

Steve is floored and he is flattered, but most of all  he is overwhelmed. He’s always loved making art, but he never thought others would love what he makes. Yet here they are, _asking_ _him_ to paint them something.

“Are you going to accept the requests?” Bucky asks, voice low, his hand sliding up and down Steve’s back in soothing motions.

Steve recognizes this as a mirror of their positions before, when Steve asked Bucky if he would help the panthers. “I’ll think about it,” he says, putting the box on the ground and curling himself around Bucky’s body.

Bucky hugs him close and kisses his forehead, grabbing his book and picking up where they left off. Even though they keep quiet, both know full well Steve will say yes.

 

**

 

“What about payment?” Steve asks, sitting on his kitchen counter and holding a steaming mug of hot cocoa.

Bucky and Natasha are sitting across from him, Bucky with a mug of his own while Nat nurses a glass of water, small ice cubes clinking against the glass. They both have the same smug tilt to their lips as they stare at Steve, proud and happy Steve has decided to take the requests brought to him.

“We’ll work something out,” Bucky promises, and together they do.

With Bucky’s experience with trading and Natasha’s suggestions, they come up with a system. Payment varies depending on what kind of art someone is looking for, the size they want it to be, and how long it would take Steve to paint.

“Commissions can go through me,” Natasha tells him, eyes falling to the box. “An added protection, if you will.”

“You want to snoop, don’t you?” Bucky teases, and then hisses when Natasha flicks an ice cube at his face.

“We can also help with trading, since you want to keep your home a secret,” Natasha continues. “I’m sure Clint would like to help.”

“That sounds good,” Steve nods, taking notes on a small notebook, purpose and determination coursing through his veins.

Steve never thought he’d make a living out of his art, and yet...

Here he is.


	13. Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** for explicit sexual content! if that's not your thing, just stop reading at _This time, they share a new kind of kiss._ :D

Steve puts the final touches on another commission, smiling a little when he feels the heat of Bucky’s body behind him.

“Finished?” Bucky asks, hands massaging Steve’s shoulders.

Steve rests his head back against Bucky’s stomach, muscles relaxing. “Almost.”

“Okay.” Bucky bends down and kisses him on the forehead. “I’ll be in bed when you’re done.”

“Okay.” Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and kisses him palm, laughing when Bucky boops him once on the nose before heading to their bedroom.

Steve glances back at his painting, putting his brush down. It’s a commission for one of the falcon shifters, friends of Sam, of their newborn daughter. It’s a small painting, but Steve works his hardest to make it as beautiful as their little girl.

Steve stretches, back popping and wings extending behind his back. He’s done enough for today, and despite his advanced sight, he knows better than to try painting when it’s already so dark outside.

Their living room is a mess of books and sketches and throw pillows, which Steve tidies up as best as he can. They’ve added a lot of things to the cabin since Steve started selling his work; more DVDs from the panthers, books from the owls, spices from the faeries, a handmade quilt in blue and grey from Wanda, the witch. They even have wooden wing-shaped bookends from one of the bear shifters.

They are all little things that help their house feel even more like a home. Little things that tell Steve this is where he belongs. Bucky isn’t the only one taking care of the cabin anymore. Steve is here, and together they share a life.

“Bed time?” Bucky asks when Steve steps into the room, looking adorably eager as he looks up from his book at Steve.

“Teeth first.”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, don’t wanna kiss you with fish breath.”

Just for that, Steve makes a beeline for the bed, dropping heavily on Bucky’s lap and grabbing his face. Bucky laughs, trying to squirm away, but he can’t stop Steve from breathing on him.

“How’s that?” Steve asks, grinning at Bucky. “It smells like fresh roses, I bet.”

“Punk.” Bucky tries to push him away, fake-gagging when Steve does it again. “Fuck, it’s like you drank swamp water.”

“Sure you don’t wanna kiss me?” Steve asks, making kissy faces, Bucky’s cheeks smooshed between his palms.

“Fuck you,” Bucky answers, hands falling to Steve’s sides and quickly commencing a tickle-attack.

Steve lets out a startled sort of yelp, laughter bubbling from his throat. He leans away from Bucky’s merciless fingers, his wings twitching and trying to curl around his body to protect himself. In between all the moving and squirming and his wings flapping away, Steve slides down from Bucky’s lap and falls into a heap on the floor, taking down half their blankets with him.

“Fuck,” Steve swears, one of their sheets getting tangled with his left wing.

Bucky, above him, clutches at his stomach while he laughs, face flushed and hair falling from his ponytail. “Oh, man,” he wheezes. “Sweet, sweet victory.”

“Shuddup,” Steve grumbles, getting his wing free.

Bucky is still laughing when Steve manages to get up, and he pulls Steve back on the bed, smacking a loud kiss to his cheek. “There’s your kiss, you big lug.”

“You’re kind of a jerk, _James_.”

Bucky smiles, dropping another kiss to the tip of Steve’s nose. “Go brush your teeth and I’ll make it up to you.”

Steve goes, but not before he hook a finger through Bucky’s hair tie and undoes his ponytail. He can be an asshole, too. He slips the tie on his wrist and goes about getting ready for bed.

At this point, their nightly routine consists of Bucky reading or watching one of his DVDs until Steve’s done painting, followed by half an hour of making out before they decide to just cuddle and go to sleep.

If he’s being honest with himself, Steve looks forward to it every night.

It’s been almost six months, and they haven’t really done anything but slowly kiss and snuggle since they got together. They shower together sometimes, but there’s usually nothing sexual to it. It’s just easy intimacy and closeness, and Steve knows he hasn’t had that for a very long time. He knows the same is true for Bucky, and they revel in just being in each other’s arms, whispering and trading kisses whenever they can.

That’s exactly what they do when Steve comes back from the bathroom, breath minty-fresh. Bucky’s still reading his book, and Steve doesn’t hesitate to get under the covers. He slides one hand under the small of Bucky’s back and the other going behind his knees, lifting Bucky up so he can get one of his wings under him. The other wing drapes itself over Bucky’s legs, making for a warm and feathery blanket.

“Are you comfortable?” Bucky asks, tone shaking with amusement.

“Not yet,” Steve tells him, and proceeds to wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist, one of his hands going under Bucky’s shirt and his head resting on Bucky’s shoulder. Maximum cuddling potential achieved. “Okay, now I’m good.”

Bucky snorts, setting down his book. His fingers find their way to Steve’s hair, softly carding through the strands. “Worked hard today?”

Steve hums, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of Bucky’s sleepshirt. “I like it,” he murmurs, speaking nothing but the truth. “I like knowing I’m helping. And I like giving people something that makes them happy, even if I don’t understand what they see in it.”

“They see what is there to see,” Bucky answers, brushing his lips against Steve’s forehead.

“Crap?”

“Talent. Beauty. Their loved ones come to life.”

Steve flushes a little, pressing his face to Bucky’s neck in an effort to hide. “I don’t get it.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re too close to it.” Bucky kisses his forehead, light and quick. “And because you’re a perfectionist. You’d find fault in everything if you stared at it long enough.”

“I would not,” Steve grumbles, even though he knows Bucky is absolutely right.

Bucky slides down the bed, moving to his side so they’re facing each other. “I’ve lived the span of more lifetimes than I can count. I’ve known art and beauty, in their purest forms. Believe me when I say you’re an amazing artist, Steve.”

Steve can’t stop staring at Bucky, cheeks flushed and butterflies in his stomach. It makes it a little hard to breathe, being is faced with Bucky’s words. It means more to him than he’s willing to admit, even if he can’t bring himself to entirely believe in it.

“I’ll try,” Steve promises, voice close to a whisper.

Bucky smiles at him, a soft curl to his pink lips. “That’s all we can do.”

Steve nuzzles his nose against Bucky’s, heart full. “You can kiss me now.”

“Can I?” Bucky’s smile turns into a grin. “What if I wanna keep telling you how beautiful I think your art is.”

“Buck,” Steve huffs, blush deepening.

“And that everyone is lucky to have a painting by Steve Rogers in their house?”

“Stop it.”

“Such art, much beauty.”

“Shut _up_.”

Bucky smirks. “Make me.”

And Steve does.

 

**

 

Kissing Bucky will always be one of Steve’s favorite things in the world.

They’ve shared so many different kisses now. Sleepy kisses when Steve gets up to make breakfast and Bucky stays in bed for another twenty minutes. Quick kisses before one of them darts out of the house. Long and slow kisses as they lie down in front of the fireplace, wings and legs tangled.

The night kisses are the ones Steve likes best.

Kisses they share in their bed, when they have nowhere to be, nothing to do. Kisses when they can take their time tasting each other, learning what the other likes. Kisses when both of them know they’ll be there in the morning, together, ready for another day of more kisses and the life they share together.

This time is not any different. Sure, their teeth clink together when Steve leans in and captures Bucky’s lips with his own, this kiss clumsy and wet and broken by the sound of Bucky’s laughter. It’s still a good kiss, a great kiss, and Steve can’t help but lean in for more.

“Easy,” Bucky murmurs, hand cupping Steve’s cheek.

Steve doesn’t bother with a reply, pulling Bucky closer with an arm around his waist. Their wings brush together, sending shivers down Steve’s spine, and all Steve can do is press closer and kiss Bucky again.

Bucky’s lips are warm and pliant under his, and Steve doesn’t stop himself from licking into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky moans low in his throat, the hand on Steve’s cheek moving to the back of his neck, angling Steve’s head to deepen the kiss.

It’s Steve’s turn to make a little pleased sound, the hand he has under Bucky’s shirt now sliding up and down Bucky’s side, trying to touch as much skin as he can. Their wings are fluttering, brushing together in what Steve likes to think are little kisses of their own.

Heat rushes through Steve’s body when Bucky nips at his bottom lip. Steve rocks forward, slipping a a thigh between Bucky’s legs and swallowing down the little gasp Bucky makes at the contact. Steve can feel Bucky through the thin layers of their sweatpants, and he’s sure Bucky can feel him, too.

This is not the first time their bodies have responded to being pressed together like this, in bed, kissing for all they are worth. They still haven’t taken the next step, though. One of them, usually Steve, always pulls back before things go too far. So Steve’s not really surprised when Bucky slows things down a little bit, this time, turning harsh kisses into soft little pecks.

They’re both breathless and flushed when Bucky presses one last lingering kiss to Steve’s lips before he finally pulls back, resting their foreheads together. Steve takes his hand from under Bucky’s shirt, mourning the loss of all that warm skin and pulling the fabric down to cover him again.

Steve doesn’t really _want_ to stop, but he’s not about to push for something Bucky isn’t ready for. “Sorry,” he says, kissing Bucky’s chin.

“What for?” Bucky asks, voice low and rough.

Steve suppresses a shiver, heart flipping at knowing he’s the one who made Bucky sound like that. “For pushing for too much, too fast.”

Bucky blinks at him, the heated expression he had just a few seconds before giving away to confusion. “What?”

Steve kisses the corner of Bucky’s mouth, untangling his legs from Bucky’s and giving him a little bit of space. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I’m not,” Bucky says, still blinking owlishly at Steve. “I only stopped because I thought you didn’t want to keep going.”

It’s Steve’s turn to stare at Bucky like an idiot, eyes a little wide. “Oh.”

“You usually put a break on things when they start to, you know,” Bucky pointedly glances down at their crotches, his ears turning a little bit pink. Steve has to bite down on the inside of his cheek not to coo. “So I thought I’d stop them before you had to, this time.”

“Bucky,” Steve breathes out, torn between fondness and exasperation.

It’s true. Steve is usually the one to stop them from going too far. Bucky always seems eager to get his mouth on Steve and touch him, but he also lets Steve set the pace.

When they started this, Steve stopped because he wanted to be sure there was something there between them. He wanted to get to know Bucky before falling into bed with him, wanted to know their attraction wasn’t just because of the bond. As the months passed, Steve learned that it wasn’t. His attraction to Bucky was all on him.

It was all real. There was no magic, no other force behind it.

It was just them.

“I’m never going to push you into something you’re uncomfortable with,” Bucky tells him, voice slow. “Especially when it comes to this.”

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, pulling Bucky to him for a sweet kiss. “And right back at you.”

Bucky smiles, brushing his nose against Steve’s. “I think it’s important to say that I’m totally okay with what we were doing before.”

Steve grins, stomach swooping. “Me too.”

“And I wouldn’t mind if we kept going,” Bucky murmurs, his wings rubbing against Steve’s.

Steve breathes out slowly, inching closer to Bucky. “I wouldn’t, either.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“Can I go back to kissing you, then?” Bucky asks.

And all Steve can do is say, “Yes.”

 

**

 

This time, they share a new kind of kiss.

There’s intent behind it, purpose, a weight to it that is both new and exciting. The kiss itself is heady and intoxicating, Bucky’s lips moving against Steve’s, hands sliding over each other’s bodies as they press closer and closer together.

Steve is still a little hesitant when his hand reaches the waistband of Bucky’s sweats, fingers teasing at the elastic. “Okay?” he asks, because as sure as he is that they both want this, it never hurts to check in.

“Yes.” Bucky kisses him again, slow and sweet, lifting his hips up when Steve tugs at the fabric.

“You— oh my _god_.” Steve breaks out into giggles, throwing Bucky’s sweats away, his eyes focused on Bucky’s crotch.

“What?” Bucky looks down at himself, wiggling his hips a little. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips twitch up in a smile of his own. “Don’t appreciate my taste in underwear?”

Steve shakes his head, grinning. “No, no, it’s… it’s truly something.”

Bucky’s boxers are a bright pink color with tiny little cupids and red hearts printed all over them. They’re the ugliest pair of underwear Steve’s has ever seen.

“Aren’t you thankful I’m wearing them tonight?” Bucky asks, batting his lashes at Steve. “They’re romantic.”

Steve snorts, unable to slide a hand up Bucky’s thigh and settle it over his hip, covering at least four cupids with his palm. “Did you think you were getting lucky?”

“I’m lucky every night,” Bucky tells him, tone a mixture of teasing and truth, “because you’re here with me.”

“Buck,” Steve murmurs, blushing a little, “that’s kinda embarrassing.”

“It’s the truth, though.”

“Shut up,” Steve says, and then pulls him in for another kiss.

Bucky smiles against his mouth, greedy hands sliding under Steve’s shirt and pulling it up. Steve breaks the kiss only long enough to take his shirt off, making a little pleased sound when Bucky’s hands are back on him, moving over his back, shoulders, down his chest.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps when Bucky thumbs at his nipples, arching into the touch.

Bucky laughs, low and dark. “That’s a thing, huh?”

Steve huffs, not dignifying that with a response. Instead, he busies himself getting Bucky out of his own shirt, mouth watering at the miles and miles of skin that bares itself to him.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve whispers, kissing over Bucky’s jaw and neck, his collarbones, the hollow of his throat. He also can’t help but close his teeth around one of Bucky’s nipples, just to tease, laughing when it makes Bucky hiss.

“Rude,” Bucky grumbles, rubbing at his sore chest.

Steve bats his hand away and places a quick kiss to Bucky’s puffy nipple. “Okay?”

“Yes.” Bucky runs a hand through Steve’s hair, messing up the strands. “Would be better if we kept kissing, though.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky nods. “And, you know, if we got naked.”

“I don’t know,” Steve drawls, hand finding its way to Bucky’s ass, giving it a squeeze. “It’d be a shame to get you out of these.”

Bucky scratches at his chin, considering. “I guess I don’t need to take it off if I’m just giving you a blowjob.”

Steve chokes a little on his tongue, grip tightening on Bucky’s ass. “You… _fuck_.”

Bucky smirks at him, pleased and filthy. “But maybe the view would be better if I did.”

The words are barely out of Bucky’s mouth before Steve is pushing Bucky’s ugly boxers down, hands clumsy and eager to get him naked. Bucky laughs and is of no help, letting Steve struggle with getting the boxers down his knees and off.

The view takes Steve’s breath away. Because there is Bucky, sprawled on the bed without a stitch of clothing left, his wings spread out behind him and glinting silver under the low light. He’s still laughing, eyes scrunched up and happiness written all over his face.

He’s beautiful, and Steve wants this moment to last forever.

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky asks, face still soft from laughter.

Steve nods, and has to clear his throat before answering. “I am. I’m okay.”

“Sure?”

Steve is the one to smile now, small and a little overwhelmed. He leans down and kisses Bucky, chaste and sweet. “Promise.”

“Hi,” Bucky whispers against Steve’s mouth, lips brushing together.

“Hey.”

“How about we get you out of these?” Bucky asks, tugging at Steve’s underwear.

It’s not the first time Steve’s been naked in front of Bucky. Hell, Steve wasn’t wearing any clothes they first time they met. But here, right now, in bed with Bucky, he suddenly feels the urge to hide himself, to grab his clothes and run away.

That feeling vanishes as quickly as it showed up, though, when Steve sees the look on Bucky’s face as Bucky stares at him. There’s hunger in Bucky’s dark gaze, awe and fascination, a little bit of surprise and disbelief — like he can’t believe they’re doing this, that they get to have this. It’s everything Steve is feeling, reflected on Bucky’s face.

There are no words Steve can say in this moment, nothing that can express everything he’s feeling. So he doesn’t bother trying, knowing he can show it to Bucky instead. And he does, finding Bucky’s lips with his own, kissing him hard and deep.

Steve doesn’t know how long they spend like that. Hours, minutes, a lifetime. Steve doesn’t care. Steve can feel Bucky against his stomach, hard and leaking, his cock brushing against Steve’s own as they slowly rock together, lost in themselves.

“I think I promised you something,” Bucky murmurs, mouth sucking marks on Steve’s neck.

Steve hums, too focused on the feeling of Bucky’s mouth to answer. He has his fingers threaded through Bucky’s hair, body shaking as Bucky pushes him to lie on his back and moves lower. He does make a disappointed little sound when Bucky ignores his chest all together, instead dropping open-mouthed kisses down his stomach.

“Oh,” Steve gasps when Bucky bites at the line of his hip, accidentally tugging at Bucky’s hair. “Sorry.”

“‘S okay.” Bucky noses at the hair under his navel, pressing a kiss there. “I don’t mind.”

Steve loosens his grip either way, moving his hands to Bucky’s shoulders, feeling the powerful shift of muscles there. Bucky kisses him again, his hands on Steve’s thighs, spreading them a little. Steve blushes at that, but doesn’t hesitate to open his legs even more, giving Bucky room.

“Thanks, doll,” Bucky tells him, peppering a sweet kiss to the inside of Steve’s thigh.

Steve’s dick, much to his embarrassment, twitches against his stomach at the petname. Bucky notices, of course, grinning as he looks up at Steve, eyebrow raised.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Bucky answers, grin widening.

“You want to, though.”

“Can’t prove it.”

Steve huffs, cupping Bucky’s cheek and pressing his thumb under Bucky’s bottom lip. “Shut up and suck my dick.”

Bucky doesn’t, not right away. Instead, he lowers his head and sucks Steve’s thumb into his mouth, tongue curling at the tip. Steve’s embarrassment at himself disappears, heat pooling at his gut at seeing Bucky’s pink lips wrapped around him. Bucky smirks around Steve’s finger, cheeks hollowing as he suckles the digit.

Steve curses, but knows two can play this game. He wraps his free hand around his cock, stroking himself in time with Bucky’s movements. He smiles a little at the way Bucky’s gaze shifts from his face to his dick, his eyes darkening.

“I think that’s enough, huh?” Steve murmurs, slipping his thumb out of Bucky’s mouth with a pop.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “that’s enough.”

Steve thinks he’s ready for it, but it takes all of his willpower not to fuck into Bucky’s mouth when Bucky wraps his lips around his cock. Especially when Bucky’s eyes flutter shut and he moans at the taste of Steve, like he’s never known anything better in his life.

Steve knows _he_ hasn’t. Steve knows nothing could possibly top the sight of Bucky between his legs, his lips red and swollen, face the picture of bliss. Like _Bucky_ is the one getting sucked off.

“You love this, don’t you?” Steve asks between gasps, touching the corner of Bucky’s stretched lips.

Bucky opens his eyes, his stare running right through Steve. He doesn’t say anything, not that he needs to. It’s obvious that he loves this, that gets off on this, that he wants nothing more than to make Steve come with his mouth.

“Sweetheart,” Steve moans, thighs trembling as Bucky doubles his efforts. “Fuck, _Bucky_.”

There’s a brief flash of something in Bucky’s eyes, and Steve barely has a moment to prepare himself before Bucky is sliding a hand up under his back. Clever fingers themselves through the feathers on Steve’s wings, sending sparks of pleasure down Steve’s spine. The heat of Bucky’s mouth on his cock and the new sensation of having his wings played with hits Steve like nothing else, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Bucky, I’m—” Steve tries to warn to him, but Bucky doesn’t pull back. When Steve’s body tenses and he comes, he spills down Bucky’s throat, body and wings trembling with the aftershocks.

Steve doesn’t notice when Bucky pulls away. He’s too busy trying to catch his breath, trying to come back to himself, trying to figure out if he’s died and this is heaven. He feels the warmth of a hand rub up and down his chest, the gentle touch serving as a touchstone and helping him back to Earth. When Steve’s eyes blink into focus, it is to find Bucky propped on an elbow beside him, expression smug.

“Hey,” Bucky says, voice rough and absolutely _wrecked_.

Steve can do nothing but pull Bucky into a filthy kiss, shivering when he tastes himself on Bucky’s tongue. Bucky kisses back, just as eager and a little desperate.

“On your back,” Steve says against his lips, kissing him again and again and again.

Bucky laughs and goes, humor turning to something else when Steve makes his way down his body. Steve is out of practice doing this, but there’s nothing he wants more than to make Bucky feels as good as he did.

Steve pays attention to the sounds Bucky makes as he takes Bucky’s cock into his mouth, using all the tricks he knows to get Bucky off and cataloguing his reactions. He also takes a page out of Bucky’s book and gets one of his hands on Bucky’s wings, the silk feathers giving under his touch. Bucky gasps and arches into it, pushing more of his cock into Steve’s mouth. Steve relaxes and lets Bucky rolls his hips forward, his own dick giving a feeble twitch as Bucky fucks his mouth.

It doesn’t take long before Bucky is tapping Steve’s shoulder, letting Steve know he’s close. Like Bucky, Steve doesn’t pull back, working Bucky over until he’s shaking and coming down Steve’s throat.

Steve lets Bucky’s cock slip out of his mouth, kissing Bucky’s hip and stomach and chest as he crawls up the bed. He flops down on top of Bucky, who’s relaxed and breathing hard, one of his hands still clutching at Bucky’s wing. Steve waits until Bucky wraps an arm around his waist and kisses his forehead, holding him close, before he speaks.

“So, the wings, huh?” Steve punctuates his question by tickling Bucky’s feathers, smiling when Bucky twitches under him.

“Yes,” Bucky says, his wings curling around them and rubbing themselves against Steve’s. “The wings.”

Steve kisses Bucky’s neck, fingers idly playing with the feathers. “Do you think…” he starts, only to bite down on his bottom lip and trail off.

“Think what?” Bucky asks, hooking one of his thighs over Steve’s hip. “If we can come by just playing with them?”

“Bucky!” Steve says, only because that’s exactly what he’d been wondering.

Bucky laughs and flips them over so he’s on top of Steve, his messy hair falling over his face. “Why don’t we give it a try?”

When faced with Bucky’s smiling face, Steve can’t bring himself to say no.


	14. Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** for sexy times and nakedness. if that's not your thing: start reading after the first break, stop at _When night falls_ , and start reading again at _“Did you get the list?”_

Things don’t change after that night, but things are not the same at all.

It is another part of themselves they get to share, in the way they learn each other’s bodies, what makes them tick, what turns them on. They lose hours and hours in their bed, naked bodies slick with sweat, lips meeting in kisses after kisses as they make each other come.

Steve learns all kinds of new things about himself when he has Bucky under him or top of him or on his knees in front of him, Bucky’s gaze hungry and his hands greedy as he touches Steve all over. It is another puzzle piece snapping into place, another wish Steve never dared would be true.

Another dream, now real, for Steve to enjoy.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Bucky says one afternoon, both of them naked and tangled together in front of the fireplace.

“Like what?” Steve asks, unable to keep a goofy smile from overtaking his face.

He never thought he would be this happy, yet time keeps proving him wrong.

Bucky keeps proving him wrong.

“Like I’m your whole world,” Bucky says, fingers tracing lazy patterns over Steve’s chest.

“You’re not.” Steve leans in and kisses him, just a brush of lips. He knows better than to make an entire person the sole focus of his universe. “But you’re an important part of it.”

Bucky smiles, a little wobbly, but kisses him back. “Sap.”

“I’m not the one tracing hearts over your chest.”

Bucky’s fingers freeze over Steve’s left pec, caught. “Okay,” he says slowly, blinking at Steve, “so we’re both saps.”

Steve nuzzles their noses together, sliding closer to Bucky, pressing their bodies together from chest to toes. “Would you have it any other way?”

“No, I would not.” Bucky shakes his head, fingers moving again, tracing one final heart right over Steve’s own.

 

**

 

Steve is not the only one aware of his own happiness.

Natasha gives them a sly smile when she appears one afternoon with another box filled with requests, her eyes darting from Steve to Bucky and back again, Clint following behind her.

“I see,” she says, and then turns to Clint. “Do you?”

“Yes.” Clint nods, and then makes a face. “I can also smell it.”

“You— what?” Steve splutters, almost dropping the box to the floor.

“You should open the windows after you have sex,” Clint tells him, unbothered. “Air the place out. I could smell the stink of it from the front door.”

Steve opens and closes his mouth, face growing hot. Bucky, beside him, stares impassively at a spot over Clint’s shoulder, but the flutter of his wings gives away how humourous he’s finding this conversation.

“We’ll take it into consideration,” Bucky says, sounding way too steady for Steve’s sake.

Clint shrugs. “You do you. Heaven knows Nat and I—”

“Do not speak of this,” Natasha cuts him off, a chilling breeze rushing through the cabin.

“Right, yes, of course.” Clint nods, biting down on his bottom to keep himself from saying anything else.

“Right,” Steve repeats, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “Right, Natasha, thank you for stopping by.”

“You’re welcome,” Natasha says, and then gives them both a look again, as warm as winter can be. “I am happy for you.”

Steve is caught a little off guard, but touched by Natasha’s words. He can tell Bucky feels the same way, as he reaches out a hand and touches her arm, a slight smile gracing his lips.

“I am happy for myself,” Bucky tells her, getting a smile from her in response.

There is something passing between both of them that Steve cannot recognize, but he waits to ask Bucky about it after Natasha and Clint have left. Clint, before taking his hawk form, pointedly stares at their living room windows, mouthing _‘air it out_ ’ before he goes.

“What was that?” Steve asks Bucky as they put on a movie, the curtains ruffling against the open windows. “The Nat thing?”

“You know I’ve been alive for lifetimes,” Bucky starts, cuddling close to Steve’s side, his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve kisses his forehead. “I know.”

“So has Nat,” Bucky continues. “Things are not easy when, for centuries, the only company you have is yourself. It can get lonely, and loneliness is hard to beat.”

Steve swallows past a lump in his throat, knowing too well how that can be. “You’re not lonely anymore.”

“I’m not,” Bucky answers, placing a kiss right over Steve’s heart. “It is a sad existence to have no one you hold close to your heart. That was true for me, once.”

“But not now.”

Bucky lifts his head, his eyes shining when he speaks, “Not now.”

 

**

 

When night falls, Steve takes Bucky to their bed.

Steve sheds Bucky of his clothes, placing kisses to every inch of skin he can reach, hands gentle on Bucky’s skin. He sucks marks into Bucky’s neck and collarbones, kisses his way down Bucky’s stomach, flips him over with careful hands on Bucky’s hips.

Bucky goes, harsh breathing echoing through the quiet room, his back arched and seeking Steve’s touch. Steve gives that to him, holding Bucky open as he licks him, answering each of Bucky’s gasps with moans of his own.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to come, Steve’s name on his lips when he spills all over the sheets. It takes even less to bring Steve over the edge, seeing his angel spread under him, sated and pliant and staring back at him with heavy eyes.

After, when they’ve both cleaned up and wrapped themselves around each other, Steve capture’s Bucky mouth with his own, kissing him slow and sweet, and reminds him that he never has to be alone.

Not now.

Not anymore.

 

**

 

“Did you get the list?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve huffs, waving the little black notebook Bucky uses to write down supplies. “It’s all right here. Like it was the first and second time you asked me.”

Bucky sticks his tongue out at him, and Steve isn’t even a little bit sorry when he leans in and bites it, making Bucky yelp and reel back.

“What the fuck?” Bucky asks, darting his tongue out again and touching it with a finger, as if to make sure all the pieces are still there, all the while glaring at Steve.

Steve just smiles and shrugs, blowing Bucky a kiss. “We have to get going. I know you don’t like getting shit from Sam for being late.”

“As if that bird could throw something I can’t catch,” Bucky sniffs, puffing out his chest, the picture of pride.

“He could stop bringing you cookies,” Steve reminds him, swallowing down a laugh as Bucky’s face pales and horror dawns on him.

“Steve, we have to go!” Bucky throws Steve’s shoes at him, almost hitting him in the face. “C’mon, chop chop.”

Steve snorts, briefly considering taking his sweet time tieing his shoes. That’d be too mean, maybe, when Bucky looks like a little kid, practically bouncing in place as he waits for Steve by the open door.

They take a different route to go meet Sam, flying low through tall trees, sometimes pushing at each other and laughing as they go. Sam still isn’t there when they arrive, so they settle to wait, leaning against one of trees, talking in soft tones.

As always, or as it seems to happen more and more often with them, talking leads to kissing. And kissing, after a while, leads to Bucky pushing Steve flush against the harsh bark of the tree, his hands under Steve’s shirt, his tongue in Steve’s mouth.

Steve doesn’t complain. In fact, Steve has one hand in Bucky’s hair while the other falls to one of his favorite places: Bucky’s butt.

“Ugh, fuck no.”

Steve tries to pull back at the sound of Sam’s voice, which proves difficult when there’s nowhere for him to go. He can feel Bucky smile against his mouth, undoubtedly pleased with himself.

“Bucky,” Steve hisses, letting go of Bucky’s ass and placing his hand on Bucky’s chest, trying to push him away.

“Just a minute, doll,” Bucky whispers, voice syrupy sweet.

Steve’s suddenly glad he’s pressed against a tree, because his stomach flips and his knees threaten to buckle.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Sam informs them, voice carrying through the clearing. “I mean, I’m happy you’re getting some, but I don’t wanna see it with my own two eyes.”

“We’re too hot for you, huh?” Bucky nods, letting go of Steve and turning around to face Sam.

Sam grins, relaxed now that Steve and Bucky don’t look like they’re about to get it on in the middle of the woods. “Too ugly, you mean.”

Bucky smiles back. “It’s always a pleasure, Samuel.”

“Wish I could say the same, James.”

Steve laughs a little, stealing Sam’s attention. “Hi, Sam.”

“Hey, man. This one giving you too much trouble?”

Steve shakes his head, looking fondly at Bucky. “Just enough.”

Bucky smiles back, smacking a wet kiss to Steve’s cheek. “You say the sweetest things, Stevie.”

“So,” Sam prompts, clapping his hands. “What do you got for me?”

Steve hands him the list, watching as Sam goes over it. “Okay?”

“Yup. Shouldn’t have a problem getting this stuff. Noticed it’s not as much as you usually ask for.”

There’s a question there, and Bucky is quick to answer. “Steve’s got himself a job,” he says, all pride.

“Buck,” Steve sighs, cheeks pinking a little.

Sam, though, just smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I definitely heard something about that. Painting, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, and in an impulse says, “If you ever want anything done, just say the word. No charge.”

“Steve, man...” Sam tries to protest, but Steve shakes his head.

“I mean it. It’s not much, but if you ever want anything, just ask.”

“Thank you,” Sam says, struggling for words. “Really.”

“Payment for this still stands, though,” Bucky tells him, plucking two feathers out of his wings. “We know you count on them, so here they are. Out of my own free will.”

Sam nods, voice grave when he says, “I will honor our deal.”

“Here,” Steve says, plucking one of his own feathers and offering it to Sam. It does not hurt as much as he thought it would; just a pinch, and it is done. “See if you can do anything with that.”

Sam stares down at the feather, lips quirking up at the corners. “I’m sure we’ll find something.”

 

**

 

“You know me too well,” Bucky murmurs when Steve puts a plate filled with chocolate chip cookies in front of him, still warm from the oven, followed by a glass of milk.

Steve kisses the top of Bucky’s head before sitting down next to him, Bucky’s wing wrapping itself around him and pulling him closer. “It’s been what? Nine months. I should damn well know you by now.”

Bucky’s smile is pleased, and he shows that by picking up a cookie and offering it to Steve. Steve goes to take it, but first grabs Bucky’s hand and places a kiss over his knuckles, light and soft. Bucky’s eyes melt, the lines on his face smoothing out, a smiling forming on his lips.

“Has it really been that long?” Bucky muses out loud, his feathers tickling the back of Steve’s neck.

“Yes.” Steve will never forget the day he almost drowned, the day he got his wings, the day he met Bucky. “Feels longer, huh?”

“Like a lifetime,” Bucky agrees, biting off a piece of his cookie.

Steve laughs and shakes his head, ignoring the way his heart speeds up at Bucky’s words. “C’mon,” he says, reaching for the small pile of books on the floor near the couch, “what book do you want me to read to you?”

“The one with the space fights,” Bucky promptly replies, mouth filled with cookies.

Steve rolls his eyes, totally unsurprised. He grabs the old paperback, moving around until he has his head on Bucky’s shoulder, listening to the beat of his heart.

Bucky keeps a hand on him as Steve reads, sometimes carding his fingers through Steve’s hair, other times running them through the feathers of Steve’s wings, and sometimes just resting his palm on Steve’s chest, over his heart. Every new chapter he drops a kiss to Steve’s forehead, his temple, sometimes Steve’s mouth, if Steve angles his head up and asks for it.

This is something Steve’s noticed, this past month. The soft touches, the press of wings, the gentle kisses. Bucky touches Steve freely now, never holding himself back, as if he is more sure of where they stand and what they are to each other.

Steve revels in it, this new intimacy. He loves the sweetness of it, and is not afraid to return it with kisses and touches of his own. Bucky welcomes them just as Steve does, arching back into Steve’s hands and leaning against his wings and losing himself into kisses.

Sometimes that leads to their bed, chaste kisses turning into hungry ones, ending with both of them spent and sticky. Other times, things stay as they are now, just the two of them sitting together, watching a movie or reading about fights in space.

Steve, as always, wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

**

 

“Are you happy?” Bucky asks him one night, his mouth pink and swollen brushing against Steve’s own.

They’re both naked and in bed, wings and limbs wrapped around each other, after one of those nights where innocent touching led into something more. Steve can feel Bucky’s breath ghost over his lips, and he doesn’t hesitant before he leans in and steals a kiss.

Steve’s found that it is all he can do, when he has Bucky this close.

And Steve’s found that this, right now, is the happiest he remembers being in a long, long time. He never wants it to end.

“Yes,” Steve whispers, lips curving into a smile. “Yes, I’m happy.”

Bucky smiles softly at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He snuggles closer, tucking his head under Steve’s chin and kissing his pulse point. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and reverent, “Me too. I am happy, too”

Lying naked in bed with Bucky, as close as they can be, Steve should’ve known that happiness wouldn’t last for very long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	15. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** for canon-typical violence, blood, minor injuries, and canonical character death.

Steve has learned, through the course of his life, that all good things come to an end.

It should not be a surprise. It has happened to him, before. Moments of bliss followed by terrible loss, light turned to darkness, happiness shattered.

Things are a little bit different now that he has his wings, but not enough to matter. He’s known, since before he became what he is now, that angels are seen as currency. They are hunted and killed and turned into statues, their wings pinned and feathers plucked.

There is a reason Bucky thought him to fight, to protect himself, to use his strength and wings as weapons. Bucky knows of the dangers of living as they do, and he tried his best to prepare Steve for it.

Natasha did, as well, with a warning of her own when Steve met her.

So really, the only surprise is that it took this long for something to happen.

 

**

 

“Bucky!” Steve yells when Bucky tugs at one of his wings, Bucky’s laughter echoing through the trees as he flies above him, happy and without a care in the world.

“C’mon, Steve!” Bucky flies past him again, ruffling Steve’s hair. “Fly with me.”

They are, or were, on one of their walks through the woods, stretching their legs after a day spent at home doing nothing but watching movies and making out. It’s nice to be outside, the faint breeze brushing against their wings, the fresh air filling their lungs.

Or it was, until Bucky decide to turn their walk into a flying race.

“Jerk,” Steve mumbles, put pushes off his feet and into the air, wings snapping behind him as he rushes towards Bucky.

He was never one to back down from a challenge, which Bucky is well aware of.

Bucky laughs again, bubbly and bright, speeding ahead. He’s a blur of color Steve tries to follow, almost flying into trees and getting his wings tangled with branches whenever Bucky takes a sharp turn.

This is kind of fun, Steve has to admit to himself. Adrenaline courses through him as they play, Bucky slowing down and letting Steve almost catch him before flying off again, his laughter loud in the otherwise silent woods.

Steve doesn’t know how much time they lose doing that, laughing and playing and chasing each other through the air. All he knows is that his wings are tired, his face cold from the chilly breeze, and he can’t wait to wrap his arms around Bucky and bring him the fuck down.

Bucky seems to sense that, or he is also getting tired of their antics, because the next time he slows down, he doesn’t run away from Steve. Instead, he lets himself be caught, turning in the air so they end up face to face when Steve reaches for him, and both of them fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs, their wings wrapping around themselves to protect them from getting hurt.

“Gotcha.” Steve grins into the crook of Bucky’s neck, light biting at Bucky’s shoulder.

“Sure did, doll,” Bucky teases, squeezing Steve’s hips. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“This,” Steve says, blowing a loud raspberry on Bucky’s neck.

Bucky yelps and breaks out laughing, trying to squirm away. Steve holds him tighter, sporting a smile of his own, his raspberry turning into soft kisses as Bucky tries to catch his breath.

“You’re evil,” Bucky sighs, pressing his smile to Steve’s temple.

“I’m a delight,” Steve sniffs, lifting his head up to mock-glare at Bucky.

Bucky keeps smiling at him, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Eh, I wouldn’t go that far.”

Steve snorts, but doesn’t pull back when Bucky tilts his head up for a kiss. It’s sweet and languid, making Steve forget they’re outside, his focus entirely on the feeling of Bucky’s mouth moving against his.

Which is why Steve doesn’t notice something’s wrong until Bucky tenses under him, hands pushing at Steve’s shoulders so they can sit up. Steve opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but promptly snaps it back shut when Bucky’s eyes cut to his, cold and alert.

That’s when Steve hears it, a little too late, the splash of water and thudding of feet.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Bucky moves in front of Steve before Steve can blink, his wings uncurling to their full potential, sharp and strong. In that moment, Bucky is as deadly as Steve has ever seen him, power and strength evident in every tense line of his body.

“Rumlow,” Bucky says, tone completely devoid of emotion.

Steve can recognize Bucky’s displeasure, though, in the way the muscles of his back shift, feet bracing themselves on the ground, like he’s ready to take flight and leave. Or attack and fuck someone up.

Steve copies Bucky’s stance, knees bent and wings at the ready. His mind flashes through all of the tips and tricks Bucky taught him during their sparring sessions, from how to use his wings to the right hold and pressure necessary to break someone’s neck.

The man in front of them takes a step forward, skin wet and feet tracking mud through the ground. His hair is slicked back away from his eyes, showing off the smattering of deep scars covering the left side of his face.

“A little too far away from your nest, aren’t you?” Rumlow smiles, sickeningly sweet and like he can’t believe his luck.

Steve’s stomach churns, mind flashing back to Natasha’s warning and Bucky’s words of caution. Not everyone who lives in the mountains will welcome them with open arms, and some might even go out of their way to hurt them.

Staring at Rumlow, Steve doesn’t have to think too hard to know where he falls.

“We are leaving,” Bucky says, already taking a step back.

“Oh,” Rumlow’s smile widens, full of sharp teeth, “I don’t think so.”

Rumlow lunges at them at the same time Bucky grabs Steve by the wrist and takes off, wings carrying them up. Or trying to. Rumlow is almost, if not _as_ fast as they are, his strength almost rivaling their own. He wraps a slimey hand around Steve’s ankle, pulling him down to the ground with as much force as he can muster.

Steve struggles against Rumlow’s hold, wings flapping around him. His wrist slips from Bucky’s tight grip as he squirms and he goes down, face hitting the hard ground. Steve feels a sharp stab of pain, the sound of bones crushing loud in his ears, the slick hot feeling of blood rushing down his face.

“Steve!” Bucky yells out from above him, all rage and anguish.

Steve kicks off his feet, ignoring the pain in his face, connecting once with Rumlow’s forearm. Rumlow grunts and looses his hold around Steve’s ankle, just enough for Steve to flip on his back, vision blurry with tears as he stares at the woods around him.

In between a blink and the next, Bucky dives in Rumlow’s direction, expertly tackling him to the ground in a move Steve would appreciate more if they weren’t in this situation. Rumlow doesn’t try to hold on to Steve, busy trying to defend himself from Bucky’s punches, just as he lands a few of his own.

Steve’s heart clenches in his chest, rushing up to help. His nose is still broken, face coated with blood, but fuck anyone who thinks he’s going to let Bucky face this alone. Not that Bucky seems to need much of his help, really.

Bucky fights like he’s made for it, body moving with impossible grace as he attacks, both with his hands and wings. He’s also not afraid to fight dirty, scratching and biting and aiming for Rumlow’s eyes, his wings hitting the sides of Rumlow’s head, or sweeping under his feet to make him lose his balance.

But Rumlow doesn’t go down easily, not when he obviously knows what’s at stake, not when he’s aware that destroying both of them could mean a better life for himself — a richer life, if he’s careful enough not to damage them too much. So the next time Bucky’s wings come close enough for him to touch, Rumlow gets a hand on his feathers and rips a chunk of them off.

Bucky’s scream is something Steve will never forget, for as long as he lives and breathes. It is filled with pain and anger, blood rushing down the wound, painting blue-grey feathers red. Bucky stumbles back, and Rumlow takes advantage, landing another solid blow to Bucky’s stomach.

Steve is the one rushing forward now, rage burning hot and bright inside of him. He grabs Rumlow around the waist, bringing him away from Bucky, and throws him as hard as he can against one of the oak trees.

Steve can hear the crunch of something breaking, hopefully one of Rumlow’s ribs. He doesn’t waste any time waiting to figure it out, leg up and ready for a kick as Rumlow tries to lever himself up, sending him crashing down again.

“Stay down.”

Rumlow laughs, blood running down his chin. “No can do.”

He lunges at Steve again, hands reaching for his wings. Steve blocks him, knuckles bloodied as he goes for Rumlow’s face, using every dirty trick he learned when fighting as a kid, human and breakable and spitting angry.

Steve feels something brush against his wings, the familiar feeling of Bucky near him just fueling his rage. Rumlow hurt Bucky, and for that he has to pay.

Together, they fight, going after Rumlow again and again, not holding back as they beat him to a pulp. Rumlow fight as hard as he can, but he’s no match for the two of them, not when they’re fighting to protect each other, to live.

When Rumlow falls to the ground, bruised and bloody, and doesn’t stand up, they step back. They’re all hurt; Bucky’s wing is covered with blood, his face is bruised, and he has a cut on his cheek. Steve’s own face is a mess, nose healing wrong, his ribs tender each time he takes a breath.

“You okay?” Bucky pants, hands clutching at Steve’s arm, eyes scanning him for more injuries.

“Nose’s broken,” Steve replies, his voice thick. “Your wing?”

“Will heal.” Bucky looks around them, throat working as he swallows. “We need… we need…”

“Hey.” Steve pulls him closer, careful of Bucky’s wing. He rests their foreheads together, knowing he’s getting blood on Bucky’s face. “We’re okay.”

“We are.” Bucky lets out a shaky breath, gently pressing his lips to Steve’s. “Fuck, we are.”

They kiss again, to reassure themselves they’re still here, a little harmed but alive. Rumlow gurgles on the ground at their feet, his breathing shallow.

“I could’ve killed him,” Steve says, surprising himself a little at the poison in his words.

“That is not for us to do, but I know.” Bucky takes a step back, eyes moving to his injured wing. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Go get Nat,” Steve says before Bucky has to, nodding once. “I know, but I don’t want to leave you.”

“One of us needs to make sure he won’t run back to the water, to the other hydras, if he wakes up. I can’t fly, so you have to find Nat.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, even though he doesn’t like the idea. “I’ll hurry.”

“I know you will.” Bucky pulls him in again, their teeth clinking together as they kiss, desperate and deep. “Now go, and then come back to me.”

“I promise,” Steve says, kissing Bucky once again before taking flight.

 

**

 

Natasha, when Steve finds her, takes one look at him and goes as still as ice.

“James?” she asks, not even blinking.

“Hurt, but alive.”

Natasha turns to Clint, the tips of her red hair turning white. “Clint.”

“I’m on it.” Clint shifts, flying into the deep woods, his cry breaking the stillness around them.

“Take me to him,” Natasha demands, the air around her crackling with cold.

 

**

 

Steve goes straight to Bucky’s side once they get there, his arms and wings wrapping protectively around his boyfriend. Bucky leans against him, tired and worn, but his attention is on Natasha.

They both watch her as she runs her eyes over them, accessing and cataloguing each of their injuries. Her gaze lingers on Bucky’s wing, expression twitching once before smoothing over, eyes blazing with barely controlled anger.

“I see,” is all she says, a whisper that rushes through the trees and chills Steve to the bone.

Rumlow chooses this moment to blink awake, coughing up blood as he tries to sit up. He stops as soon as he catches sight of Natasha, standing just a few feet in front of him, the tips of her red hair covered in ice.

“Went running back to mama, didn’t you?” Rumlow spits, but they can all see the fear behind his harsh words. “Not man enough to take care of your own problems, huh.”

“You forget,” Bucky tells him, temple pressed against Steve’s, “we are not men.”

Rumlow opens his mouth to reply, but stops when the sounds of footsteps reach them, the cry of a hawk piercing the air. Bucky sags even more against Steve’s side, and Steve holds him close with an arm on his waist, his wing pushing against Bucky’s back and helping him stand.

Around them, people bleed through the trees. They circle them, taking in the scene, the blood, the ice. They all stand tall, expressions a mixture of anger, fear, and disgust.

Some faces are familiar to Steve, friends he’s made since settling here. He can see Clint, stopping at Natasha’s six, his jaw clenched; T’Challa and Zuri, lips curled and teeth bared, amber eyes trained on Rumlow; Sam, mouth tight with anger when he sees Bucky’s wing.

There are others, as well, whom Steve has come to know in passing. Wanda, the witch, with red sparks swirling behind her eyes; Bruce, the friendly bridge troll, skin tinged green like moss and his hands curled into fists; America, the fae princess, with stars burning in the back of her hands.

And there are strangers, others Steve has never seen nor met. They are all gathered here, those who share a bond with the land, who made a promise when they settled here, vows spoken under Natasha’s icy gaze.

“You made a vow,” Natasha tells Rumlow, words carried by the cold wind. “And you broke that vow.”

Rumlow snarls, trying to crawl away from Natasha. The ground opens under him, trapping him to the waist in snow and ice, making him unable to run away or fight.

“You never should have let them stay here,” Rumlow bites off, trying to push away the snow, only to end up sinking a few inches more. “They’re a threat to us. They should’ve been _killed_.”

Steve takes in a sharp breath, having to stop himself from going to Rumlow and punching him in the face again. Against him, Bucky closes his eyes, turning his face into Steve’s neck, making a little hurt sound in the back of his throat.

“ _You_ are a threat,” Natasha hisses back, snowflakes starting to fall around them. “You are the one who attacked them. You are the one who broke the binding.”

“Fuck _you_!” Rumlow yells, desperately trying to get away.

They all know it is for nothing. They all know no one can run away from the cold.

“Actions have consequences,” Natasha states, taking a step forward. “When you made your vows, I made you a promise.”

Steve’s insides go cold, memories going back to the first time he met Natasha.

“All of you stand here as witness,” Natasha speaks, voice clear and cutting. “All of you stand here as punishment must be met.”

“We do,” everyone confirms, watching as Natasha spins her web.

Steve swallows, sliding a hand up and down Bucky’s back in comfort. Bucky turns to stare at the scene in front of him again, nestled against Steve’s side, unflinching from what is about to happen.

Rumlow keeps screaming, shouts of rage turning into ones of fear and despair. He tries to run, to escape, but there’s no place for him to go to. No one to help. Not even the other hydras come out of their hiding place, safe under the cold waters of the lake, ignoring his screams.

The ground turns to ice under Natasha’s bare feet, cracking as she walks above it. Rumlow tries to inch away when she gets close enough to touch, but he is trapped, pinned in place. When Natasha lays one pale hand on his cheek and turns his insides into ice, all he can do is stand there and take it as he gets frozen to death in front of their eyes.

The silence that follows his death is heavy and as cold as the snow around them. It is even worse when Natasha taps a nail to the tip of Rumlow’s nose and he shatters into a thousand little pieces, disappearing into the ground.

Steve looks away, then, burying his face against Bucky’s hair, breathing in the scent of sweat and blood, feeling the warmth of Bucky’s body against his own. They are here, they are alive, and this is all over.

“May this serve as reminder,” Natasha tells them, “of the promises we made.”

Around them, the snow continues to fall.

 

**

 

Steve and Bucky are quiet as they make their way home.

Bucky wraps himself around Steve, legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, in a mirrored position of the first time they went flying together, back when Steve didn’t know any better. Steve just holds him and flies them home, pressing kisses to Bucky’s face every few minutes, just because he can.

Steve sits Bucky down on the edge of their tub, kissing his forehead, the tip of his nose, the dimple on his chin. They don’t speak as Steve cleans the blood off of them and patches them up, although he hisses and cries when Bucky has to re-break his nose.

Bucky’s wing looks the worst of it, raw and with a patch of feathers missing, the muscles under it scabbing. Steve is as careful as he can be as he cleans it, whispering apologizes whenever Bucky flinches away in pain, trying his best not to step around the feathers whenever he has to move.

Steve swallows, words heavy in this throat. “We’re here,” is all he can think to say, the only words that stumble past his lips as he stands in front of Bucky. “We’re here.”

And they are. Alive, breathing, with their hearts beating inside of their chests.

Bucky nods, grabbing Steve’s hands in his own. Their knuckles are wrecked, but that doesn’t stop Bucky from dropping a kiss to Steve’s palms.

“We’re here,” Bucky repeats, bringing his arms around Steve and burying his face on Steve’s stomach, holding and hugging him tight.

They’re shaking, tremors running down their bodies as they hold each other. They both know things might have ended differently, worse, but they are still here and they still have each other.

“C’mon,” Steve says, clearing his throat. “How about a bath?”

Bucky nods against Steve’s tummy, voice muffled when he says, “A bath sounds good.”

And it is. It’s a way for them to reassure themselves they’re still here, that they’re okay. Most of their injuries have healed, only pink lines and faded yellow bruises left behind. It’s grounding, running soapy hands over Bucky’s chest, his sides, feeling his ribs move with each breath he takes. They trade kisses as they clean themselves up more thoroughly; just sweet, tired, comforting kisses.

Steve helps Bucky with his wing when they go to bed, finding a position that doesn’t put a strain on his wound. Bucky ends up on his back in the middle of the bed, and Steve cuddles against his side, his head over Bucky’s chest, arms around Bucky’s waist.

That night, they don’t sleep. They just hold each other, close and tight, and think about what could have been.


	16. Bond

It is hard for Steve to leave Bucky’s side in the coming weeks. He knows Bucky finds it just as difficult, always staying within reach, even when it is just the two of them at home. They need this, time for themselves, reassuring each other that everything is okay, that they are safe.

Steve stops working on his commissions and stops accepting new ones. Natasha sends out a warning to the others, so they know to expect their paintings a little later than usual. They don’t complain, even though Steve feels a little guilty about it.

Steve has priorities, though, and in the moment that means staying with Bucky.

“It’s healing okay,” Steve murmurs, fingers gently prodding at Bucky’s wing. “New feathers are growing.”

They’re lighter than the ones Bucky already has, new and bright. It marks the spot where Rumlow sank his claws into, a small reminder of what they went through. Of all their hurts, Bucky’s wing is the one taking longer to heal.

Bucky looks over his shoulder, extending his wing behind him. His movements are still a little jerky, pulling at the muscles, but it doesn’t pain him as much as it did a few weeks ago. He still can’t fly, but Steve is there to gather Bucky in his arms and take him wherever he wants to go.

Bucky makes a face at himself, poking at his new feather and shuddering. “Looks ugly.”

“Does not,” Steve argues, kissing Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re still the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen.”

Bucky shakes his head at him, a shy smile on his lips. “C’mere.”

Steve goes, plopping himself down on Bucky’s lap and tilting his head down for a kiss. It starts small and chaste, like all of their kisses do these days, but soon enough Bucky is licking his way into Steve’s mouth, soft and a little desperate.

They are healing, but things are still shaky. They have both tasted what it would be like to live life without each other, and they have no desire for that kind of thing.

They want this, they want each other, they want to be together.

For as long as they can.

 

**

 

Steve doesn’t stray far from his home anymore, whenever he goes on one of his walks. He used to do it alone, but now Bucky walks beside him, their wings touching, the wind ruffling their feathers.

They treasure the silence as they move through the trees, through paths long forgotten. Sometimes Steve sneaks a glance at Bucky, his heart skipping inside of his chest, hands itching to hold him and take him back home, to their bed.

“It’s walking time now,” Bucky says with a smile, his voice low as he stares at the trees. “We can have fun later.”

Steve feels his face grow hot, and he doesn’t stop himself from taking Bucky’s hand in his own, linking their fingers together. “How did you know?”

Bucky turns to him, eyes glinting. “You’re not the only one who looks beautiful under the sun.”

Steve blinks at him. “I’m not sure if that’s sweet or conceited.”

Bucky grins, sharp and amused. “Can’t it be both?”

Steve rolls his eyes, warmth rushing through him at seeing Bucky’s smile.

They stop at one of the clearings closest to their home, sitting down under the shade of a tree. Steve’s back is to the trunk, with Bucky sideways in between his legs, his head resting on Steve’s shoulder. Steve distracts himself by carding his fingers through the feathers on Bucky’s wings, enjoying the way it makes Bucky shudder and cuddle closer.

Time slows as they stay like that, taking in the view and trading kisses whenever they feel like it. At one point, Bucky takes a cookie packet from one of his jacket pockets, waving it in front of Steve’s face and waggling his eyebrows.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Steve sighs, nuzzling Bucky’s temple.

“Me neither,” Bucky tells him, taking a bite of a cookie. “As if I’d go on a walk without bringing the essentials.”

“You only brought cookies.”

“Exactly.”

Steve snorts, but doesn’t resist when Bucky breaks one of the cookies in half and gives one side for him to eat. The kiss Bucky gives him, after the cookie, is even sweeter.

They let themselves relax as much as they are comfortable with, which isn’t much at all. They’re acutely aware of every ruffling sound of leaves, the branches snapping with the breeze, the thudding footsteps as someone draws near.

Bucky tenses against Steve, one of his hands sneaking into his jacket. Steve knows Bucky’s hand is curled around the knife he recently started carrying everywhere, the blade sharp and swift.

Bucky is not going to be a victim of chance, not anymore, not if he can help it.

Steve can’t really blame him. He also braces himself, ready to fight he has to. Again.

“Don’t you two look on edge,” Sam says as he breaks through the trees, walking into the clearing. He gives them a kind and tentative smile, holding a white box in his hands.

Bucky blinks, the tense silence around them stretching for a few seconds before he exhales, his shoulders dropping. “Samuel. You shouldn’t sneak up on us.”

“I didn’t. If I had, you wouldn’t have heard me until it was too late.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and shakes his head, hand sneaking back from under his jacket. Steve slumps back against the tree, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His wings, out of their own accord, brush against Bucky’s, seeking comfort and reassurance.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, pleased when Bucky rests more fully against him instead of getting off his lap.

“As good as it can be,” Sam answers, dropping down on the floor in front of them. “How are you doing?”

Steve and Bucky exchange a glance. They’ve been better, but they also have not. Their fear and anger and despair will fade away with time.

“We’re as good as we can be,” Bucky says, head resting on Steve’s shoulder, his wings fluttering against Steve’s own.

“That’s good.” Sam nods, throat working as he swallows. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“‘S not your fault, Sam,” Bucky tells him with a small smile, kicking out a foot and lightly hitting Sam over the knee. “You’ve been a friend.”

“Well,” Sam clears his throat, handing Bucky the box, “as a friend, I brought you something.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Will a frog jump at me if I open this?”

Sam grins, winking. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Bucky narrows his eyes and slowly opens the box, letting out a little gasp when he sees what’s inside it. “Really?”

What strikes Steve first is the smell. It is warm and sweet and familiar, its chocolatey sweetness reminding him of many afternoons spent at home, tangled with Bucky in front of the first place. Steve can’t help but smile as he peers over Bucky’s shoulder and into the box, mouth watering when he sees the brownies, still warm from the oven.

“Really.” Sam nods. “Figure you could use some cheering up, after everything.”

Bucky swallows hard, closing the box and setting it down beside him on the ground. He surges up and off of Steve’s lap, going up to Sam. There’s a second of surprise clear on Sam’s face right before Bucky throws his arms around him, pulling into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” Bucky murmurs against Sam’s shoulder, his wings wrapping themselves around both of them.

Sam stares at Steve over Bucky’s shoulders, hugging Bucky back. Steve smiles, happy and touched, and mouths a thank you of his own.

Food, deep in the forest and mountains, is currency. When most of them cannot venture into town to buy things for themselves, they make do with trades. A little bit of this for a little bit of that, something for something else, a thing for another.

And here Sam sits, offering them something precious.

“No thanks necessary,” Sam says, voice a little rough. “Really.”

“Just shut up and take it,” Bucky grumbles, still attached to Sam like a limpet.

“Yeah, Sam,” Steve grins, rather pleased with how things turned out. “Just feel the love.”

“Ugh, fine,” Sam says with mock annoyance, clapping Bucky on the back. “Please let go soon, though. Your feathers are stabbing me.”

“Feathers don’t stab,” Bucky argues, giving Sam one last squeeze before letting go. He plops back down on Steve’s lap, grabbing the box. “Do you want a brownie?”

“You’re sharing?” Sam asks, a little baffled.

“Just this once,” Bucky replies, already taking a bite out of one of them. “Just with a friend.”

“I’d be honored to share a brownie with you,” Sam says, oddly formal. “With both of you.”

“The honor is ours,” Bucky sniffs, his mouth full.

“It is,” Steve agrees, content to let Bucky cuddle up to him as they eat with a friend.

“Speaking of feathers,” Sam starts after a few minutes of them eating, darting a glance at Steve, “I’d like to thank you for yours. They’ve been rather… useful.”

“Oh?” Steve perks up. “Really? That’s good.”

He’s happy a little part of himself has helped Sam and his cast.

“What were they good for?” Bucky asks, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Well, a little bit of everything, really. But mostly for protection charms. Really strong and powerful protection charms.”

Bucky slowly starts to smile. “How strong?”

“ _Extremely_ strong.” Sam’s lips twitch up at the corners. “So strong they blasted Clint through the air when he tried to fly through our territory.”

“My feathers did that?” Steve asks, a little dazed.

“Yeah.” Sam grins, delighted. “It was great. That’ll teach him not to sneak around. Just because he’s married to Nat doesn’t mean he gets to come and go as he pleases.”

“Yes, thank you,” Bucky agrees, and then pats Steve on the stomach. “I knew you were capable of great things.”

“You mean my feathers.”

“I mean _you_ ,” Bucky insists, resting a hand just over Steve’s heart. “They are a part of us, so they _are_ us _._ They’re only as good as we are. And Steve?” Bucky taps his fingers against Steve’s chest, mimicking the beat of Steve’s heart, “You’re the best of us.”

 

**

 

Steve and Bucky soon learn, after they say their goodbyes to Sam and go home, that he is not the only one to come bearing gifts.

Natasha and Clint wait for them by their door, each with a plate in hand. Around them, boxes and bags lay on the ground, just waiting to be let inside.

“Nat,” Bucky breathes out when he sees her, taking a step forward but stopping when Natasha shakes her head at him.

“You were in danger,” Natasha says, her voice cracking like ice on a warm day, “because I permitted evil to bound itself to these lands.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Bucky tells her, hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Yet I still feel guilty,” Natasha answers, lower lip trembling just once before she schools her expression. Behind her, Clint places a hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry you were hurt.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Steve promises her. “Nothing at all.”

Natasha blinks once, eyes staring through Steve and at his very soul. Steve does his best to meet her head on, ignoring the way the air turns colder around him and the way his fingers grow numb. Whatever she sees there, it makes her blink, the lines on her face softening a little.

“I still am,” Natasha says, and then she takes a step forward, offering her plate to them. “And I wish you well.”

Bucky takes the plate, face twitching through a myriad of expressions before settling into a deeply amused one. “ _Khvorost_ , really?”

It is a rare sight to see, but Natasha smiles, big and bright and a little bit cold. “Angels wings for an angel,” she says, obviously pleased at her own joke.

Suddenly, Steve is struck with a deep understanding of why she and Bucky are friends.

“Here,” Clint steps forward, giving Steve his own plate.

Steve glances down at his hands. “Pizza?”

“It is the food of the gods,” Clint says, seriousness coloring his tone. “It always makes everything better.”

“Thank you,” Steve answers, and then glances down at the bags and boxes.

Clint and Natasha follow his gaze, but Clint is the one who answers the silent question lingering between them. “We’re not the only ones who are sorry,” he says, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

Looking closer, Steve can see the markings on each bag and box, signaling where they’re from. He can see something from almost everyone who was there that day, to witness Rumlow’s fall. Beside him, Bucky takes in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly. Steve can see the wetness in his eyes from where he stands, as he takes in what people have offered.

“Nat, Clint,” Bucky starts, voice wavering a little, “why don’t you have dinner with us?”

They smile, much like Sam when Bucky asked him if he wanted a brownie. Their answer, when it comes, it is also the same. “We would be honored to.”

 

**

 

Life returns to normal, after that. Or as normal as it can be when one is an angel.

The food, sent by almost everyone bound to the forest as Steve and Bucky are, was a statement. An olive branch. An apology they gladly accept.

After all, life is so much easier when your neighbors aren’t trying to kill you.

Steve and Bucky are glad to fall back to their routine. Steve goes back to his paintings, while Bucky offers a helping hand to those in need. It is comforting, in a way, to settle back into life as it were. It is familiar, and it is the life they have built together.

Steve still finds himself thinking about it, though. During his most quiet moments, as he watches Bucky sleep, he thinks about what life would have been like without Bucky, if Rumlow had succeeded. He wonders what their home would be like, empty and void of his presence. He wonders, and he pulls Bucky closer, his heart in his throat when Bucky snuffles and curls closer to him, his wing falling over them like a blanket.

It would have been the worst kind of life, Steve realizes. A life he does not wish to have.

“Hmm, no,” Bucky mumbles in his sleep, brows furrowing. “Bad bird.”

Steve stifles a laugh, jostled out of his thoughts by Bucky’s sleepy voice. He talks in his sleep sometimes, after an exhausting day. It’s been happening more and more often, as he spends his days helping the panthers expand their territory, building more homes.

“Not the cookie,” Bucky grumbles, his hand grabbing at Steve’s shirt and holding on tight. “‘S mine.” Bucky smacks his lips together, his wings twitching and curling themselves around Steve. “All mine.”

Steve’s breath hitches in his throat, a feeling so powerful rushing through him that it takes his breath away. And as he watches Bucky cling to him in his sleep, Steve knows. He is only surprised it took him this long to realize it.

He loves Bucky.

He’s helplessly, head over heels, in love with Bucky.

He loves him so much he thinks he might die from it, right here on their bed.

Steve doesn’t say anything, though. He just holds Bucky closer and kisses his forehead, heart tugging in his chest when Bucky smiles a little, the soft line of his lips curling up.

Steve figures some secrets are okay to keep. At least for a little while.

At least until he decides what he wants to do.

 

**

 

It doesn’t take much, in the end. Not that Steve thought it would, after he recognized the depth of his feelings.

It also doesn’t change much, in the end. Except for all the ways that it does.

Steve watches Bucky brush his teeth, dressed for bed and with his hair up in a bun. He’s humming to himself, hips shaking from side to side in a cute little dance, his toes wiggling inside his fuzzy pink socks.

“Wha?” Bucky asks around his toothbrush when he catches sight of Steve in the mirror, raising his eyebrows.

Everything is still the same, but Steve burns with the knowledge of his love. His days are brighter, his smiles wider, his steps lighter. He is in love and he is happy and they are both alive.

“Nothing,” Steve shakes his head, smiling at Bucky. “Nothing at all.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and finishes brushing his teeth, hip checking Steve on his way out of the bathroom. “Creeper,” he murmurs, and then laughs when Steve catches him around the waist and pulls him back.

“Jerk,” Steve says between a smile, pulling Bucky into a minty fresh kiss. Bucky falls into it, his arms around Steve’s shoulders, fingers tracing Steve’s wings.

“You like me,” Bucky says, eyes shining and fond.

“Yes,” Steve kisses him again. “I do.”

And it’s true.

Steve is in love and he is happy and he wouldn’t trade this life for anything in the world.

 

**

 

When it comes time for Steve to make his decision, he finds it the easiest thing in the world. All he has to do is look around him, to the place he and Bucky have made for themselves.

There are books lying around all over the place, some courtesy of the werewolf pack, others of the hawk shifters that live near the town. There are herbs and plants and a little garden outside, a gift from the faeries after Steve helped save one of their own from a rusty old bear trap. There are pictures of Steve’s mother and his life from before on the wall, as well as a few of Steve’s paintings hanging on the walls.

It is a home.

It is _their_ home.

It is the safest and happiest Steve has felt since his mother’s death, and he will not leave it all behind.

He knows what it is like to live a life filled with sadness. Now he wants to live a life filled with love.

 

**

 

“What do we have to do?” Steve asks one night, after they’ve come home from a gathering with the druids, bone tired and smelling of fresh leaves and earth.

“Shower?” Bucky frowns, picking a leaf out of his wing and letting it fall to the floor.

“To make the bond binding,” Steve clarifies, pleased to see Bucky freeze, wings stretching out behind him, tips almost touching the ceiling.

It is the first time Steve has mentioned bonding, intent and hope behind his words. He knows he could have been more subtle about it, but that has never been his strong suit. And when it comes to this, to Bucky, to their forever, Steve does not want to play any games.

“What?” Bucky breathes out, eyes wide and face pale.

“I’m not leaving you,” Steve says, moving closer and into Bucky’s personal space. “And you can’t make me.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky chokes out a sound between a laugh and a sob. “I would never.”

Steve brings a hand to cup Bucky’s cheek, thumb tracing over his bottom lip. He doesn’t know who moves first, but soon they’re kissing, deep and slow and just as consuming as their first kiss almost a year ago.

“Are you sure?” Bucky whispers against his lips, voice small and hesitant and filled with hope.

“Yes,” Steve answers, tone breaking no argument. “I’ve lived a life without you, before. I don’t want to do it again.” He kisses Bucky again, because he can, because he _must_. “I love you, Bucky. More than I can say.”

Bucky laughs again, his eyes wet with tears. “I love you, too. I love you. So much.”

They come together in another kiss, happy and sloppy and salty with tears. It is the best kiss Steve’s ever had, and he can’t get enough of it. Their wings, wrapped around each other, flutter in small kisses of their own.

“What do we need to do?” Steve asks again before leaning in for another kiss, and another, and one more.

“We only need to promise,” Bucky says when he pulls back, eyes dark and filled with love, “and _believe_.”

“Promise what?” Steve asks, moving impossibly closer.

“With you I wish to stay,” Bucky vows, the words echoing through the space between them, “until the end of the line.”

When Steve repeats the words, right against Bucky’s lips, their wings wrap themselves around each other, and their bodies fill with light.


	17. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** for explicit sexual content! if that's not your thing, stop reading after the first break and start again after the second one :D

It is as if they are one.

Steve can feel Bucky, deep in his soul. A little warm ball of light inside his heart, pulsing with love and awe and disbelief. It is the last puzzle piece snapping together to make the dream of Steve’s life.

Bucky laughs, loud and bright and like he can’t quite believe what is happening. His cheeks are wet with tears, the tip of his nose red, and his wings are wrapped around Steve’s body, keeping him in place.

“I love you,” Bucky says, leaning in for a kiss and another and one more. “I love you. I love you.”

All Steve can do is kiss back, overwhelmed by the greatness of Bucky’s love. He knows, in his heart, that Bucky can feel him just as much. The bond, now that it is in place, now that it is binding, connects them.

They are half of each other’s souls. When one soul sings with happiness, both of them hear it.

“Bucky,” Steve gasps, tilting his head back as Bucky kisses his neck, sucking marks into the soft skin.

It is claiming, in a more visible way; Bucky’s bruises on Steve’s skin. It is a little surrender Steve does not mind giving, as he presses closer to the hot touch of Bucky’s mouth, his hands gripping at Bucky’s hair.

He can feel Bucky’s love for him through the bond, his want, his desire to lay Steve down on their bed and not let him up until he’s done. It matches and mixes with Steve’s own feelings, burning through him as he captures Bucky’s mouth in another kiss, deep and all-consuming.

“I love you,” Bucky says again for the hundredth time, the words whispered against Steve’s mouth.

Steve will never get tired of hearing them, a shiver running down his spine and warmth pooling in his gut. “I love you,” he murmurs back, wings brushing against Bucky’s own, their hearts beating in tandem. “Take me to bed.”

 

**

 

It is different, this time.

Bucky grabs Steve by the back of his thighs, lifting him up off the floor. Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist and clings to him, body growing hot at how little effort it takes for Bucky to carry him around, strong muscles shifting under his clothes.

Steve loves how strong Bucky is, how powerful. They are almost matched in strength, but Bucky will always have years of experience on Steve. Bucky knows exactly how to best use his body, and he knows exactly what to do to drive Steve up the wall.

Picking him up like he weighs nothing is part of it. So is kissing him hard and slow, exploring Steve’s mouth, taking his time tasting him. Sliding his hands up his thighs to Steve’s ass, kneading at his cheeks, is one more.

Steve moans and pushes back into Bucky’s hands, wishing they were wearing less clothes. He can’t be bothered to stop kissing Bucky to make that happen, at least not now. Not when it feels this good.

Bucky walks them to their bedroom, lips never leaving Steve; either kissing his mouth or biting his jaw or sucking hickeys into his neck. They don’t let go of each other when they fall into bed, limbs tangled and mouths busy with kissing.

They can feel what the other feels through the bond, echoed deep in their hearts. They lose themselves in each other, and they find themselves in each other. Over and over again.

If this is what being bonded is always like, Steve cannot wait to live every single moment of it.

It is a struggle to stop kissing so they can get rid of their clothes, but they make that little sacrifice, fabrics falling to the floor as greedy hands slide over bare skin. Steve doesn’t stop himself from worshipping Bucky’s body as it is revealed to him, kissing and touching every inch of soft skin he can reach.

“ _Steve_.” Bucky arches into it, gasping when Steve bites at the hard line of his hip. He grips at Steve’s wings, fingers burying themselves through the feathers, sending shivers down Steve’s spine. “Come up here.”

Steve goes, helpless to the breathy sound of Bucky’s voice. He settles between Bucky’s spread legs, their hard cocks brushing together against Bucky’s stomach. Steve moans at the friction, at the heat rushing through the bond, leaving him breathless and aching.

“Fuck,” Steve chokes out, dropping his head on Bucky’s shoulder and making little movements with his hips.

Bucky grabs the back of his neck and tilts his head up, mouth crashing together in kiss, deep and filthy and wet. Steve kisses back just as hard, bracing himself over Bucky, Bucky’s legs wrapped around his waist.

There is no finesse to this, only love and lust and despair. They rock against against each, bodies slick sweat, lost to the sensations that rush through the bond. All Steve can do is grip at the arch of Bucky’s wings and kiss him, pouring everything he’s feeling into it, and have Bucky answer in kind.

Their kisses turn sloppier the closer they get to the edge, every little shift and sensation amplified through the bond. Steve can’t wait to find out what it feels like to have Bucky inside of him now that they’re bonded, and to be inside of Bucky, but they are too far gone to try any of that now.

Bucky bites at his bottom lip, tongue soothing the hurt before sweeping into another kiss. Steve moans and kisses back, his nipples hard as they brush against the smattering of hair on Bucky’s chest, sending sparks down his spine.

One of Bucky’s hands slip in between them, knuckles grazing Steve’s stomach. Steve breaks the kiss when Bucky takes them both in hand, groaning into Bucky’s mouth, Bucky’s rough palm hot and sure around their cocks.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve whimpers as he fucks into Bucky’s fist in short little thrusts, the underside of his cock sliding against Bucky’s own.

“That’s it, doll,” Bucky says through a smile, eyes heavy-lidded. “That’s it. C’mon.”

Steve stares at him, taking in Bucky’s flushed skin and messy hair, his lips red and swollen from kissing, his stomach sticky with precome. There is happiness in Bucky’s eyes, and desire in every line of his body. Bucky is here, with Steve, and he’s not going anywhere.

Steve loves him, and he never has to let go.

Forever is theirs and it starts now.

“I love you,” Steve blurts out, heart thudding in his chest when Bucky lets out a breathless laugh, knocking their foreheads together.

“And I love you.” Bucky grins, eyes shining with delight. “Kiss me.”

And Steve does. Small kisses, deep kisses, sweet kisses. Kisses that get sloppier the closer they get to coming, that turn into just brushes of lips as they roll their hips, Bucky’s palm around them. Steve lets go of one of Bucky’s wings to sneak a hand in between them, his fingers tangling with Bucky’s, both of them working to get the other off.

When Bucky comes, he bites at Steve’s shoulder, leaving yet another mark for Steve to treasure. He spills over Steve’s hand and his own stomach, body going pliant under Steve’s, his wings trembling through the aftershocks. Steve follows a few seconds later, unable to contain himself at the sight Bucky makes under him, happy and sated and oh-so-in-love. Steve can’t even be bothered about the mess when he flops down over Bucky’s body, stomachs sticking together.

The bond is alight between them, overflowing with joy.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs when Steve lifts his head up, kissing him softly on the lips.

“Hi.” Steve nuzzles his nose against Bucky’s, breathing him in. “I love you.”

Bucky smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say it.”

“And I’ll never get tired of saying it,” Steve admits, because he very much doubts that will happen.

Steve has made a lot of choices in his life, and loving Bucky is among the best of them.

 

**

 

Natasha is the first to know, not that either of them tell her.

She stops by their cabin, bringing cold and snow with her as she walks, holding another box full of commission requests. Clint is perched on her shoulder in his hawk form, letting out a caw as soon as Steve leads them inside.

“Hello to you too,” Steve huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as Clint flies circles above them before settling on the coffee table, pecking at the muffins Bucky left there.

“Shoo!” Bucky waves his hands at him, moving him away from the muffins. “No sweets for birds. If you want to eat, you’ll have to shift to your ugly form.”

Clint caws again, sounding all kinds of offended. A second later, though, and he’s sitting on their coffee table in his human form, pointing a finger at Bucky. “You’re the ugly one.”

“Clint,” Natasha interrupts them, letting Steve the box out of her hands, “be nice to Steve’s bonded.”

Steve almost drops the box on his foot, turning around to stare at Natasha in surprise. “How did you…?”

“You bonded?” Clint asks, jumping from the table and grinning widely at them. “That’s great!”

Bucky sighs, long and deep, facing Natasha. “Why can’t you let me give you good news for once in your life?”

“You are too slow,” Natasha answers, raising an eyebrow at him. “If I had waited for you to tell me, it’d take you weeks.”

“It has been weeks,” Steve says despite himself, wincing a little when Bucky glares at him.

It has, though. The best weeks of Steve’s life, as far as he’s concerned.

Natasha just smiles, small and pleased. “See? Too slow.”

“Whatever,” Bucky grumbles, and slaps Clint’s hand away from the muffin tray when he inches closer.

“Hey!” Clint protests. “I shifted.”

“Oh, right.” Bucky blinks, and then offers the tray to Clint. “Sure, you can have one.”

Clint narrows his eyes at him, hesitantly going for another muffin. He quickly grabs one and stuffs half of it in his mouth, his cheeks puffing out. “‘S good,” he says, mouth full.

“Of course it is,” Bucky sniffs. “I made it. Nat?”

Natasha gracefully accepts a muffin. “Thank you.”

“How did you know?” Steve asks when Bucky hands him his muffin, smiling when he notices it is the biggest one.

Bucky smiles at him and kisses his cheek, quick and sweet.

“There is a glow around you,” Natasha replies, smiling softly. “And warmth. It is unmistakable, the vow you two made.”

Steve glances at Bucky at that, heart full. “Yeah,” he sighs dreamily, knowing he looks like a besotted idiot and not caring at all.

“I am happy for you,” Natasha tells them, and Clint nods his agreement, his mouth still full. “You both deserve to have your dreams come true.”

“Yes,” Bucky grins, snaking an arm around Steve’s waist and cuddling against his side, “we do.”

And Steve, surrounded by Bucky’s warmth and feeling happiness flood the bond, can do nothing but agree.

 

**

 

“I hear congratulations are in order.” Sam grins at them when he walks through the clearing, his smile so bright it is almost blinding.

“Clint needs to stop gossiping,” Bucky complains, but he is quick to pull Sam into a tight hug. “Hi, Sam.”

“Hey, man.” Sam hugs him back, before moving to Steve. “Congrats. To both of you.”

“Thanks,” Steve answers, clapping Sam on the back. “It’s been…” Steve trails off, but he can’t keep himself from beaming.

Sam rolls his eyes at him. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re both deliriously happy, I can tell.”

“Aw, Samuel,” Bucky sighs, throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find someone to put up with you one day.”

“Thanks, man.” Sam pokes Bucky in the stomach, smirking when Bucky yelp and pulls away. “I’m sure that if you can do it, so can I.”

“Rude.”

“You said it.” Sam ruffles Bucky’s hair, expression softening. “So, what are we doing today?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, clearing his throat and shifting nervously in place, “we were wondering…”

Sam glances from Bucky to Steve and back again, waiting. “Yes?”

“We, uh, we’d like you to… I mean,” Bucky stops again, coughs into his fist, his wings fluttering in agitation against his back.

Steve knew Bucky would be nervous, but not like this. He places a hand on Bucky’s back, a silent show of support. He feels Bucky take a deep breath and let it out slowly, one of his wings brushing against Steve’s.

“Bucky?” Sam asks, frowning a little.

“We wanted to invite you over,” Bucky finally gets it out, words rushing out of it, “to our house. To hang out.”

Sam’s eyes widen in shock, but happiness quickly overtakes the surprise on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Bucky nods. “I think it’s time. I mean, you are one of my best friends.”

Sam clutches at his chest, swooning a little in place. “Be still, my heart,” he tries to joke, but they can all see how touched he is by the request.

Steve knows Bucky’s always held his home close to his heart, after a life on the run. The dangers are all still there, but maybe it is also time to open the doors for others. Life is always best when you surround yourself with people you love.

“You sure?” Sam asks, serious once again.

“We’re sure,” Steve and Bucky say at the same time, leaning into each other.

“I’d be honored to,” Sam says, face breaking into another one of his blinding grins.

“Okay, good.” Bucky blinks, and then he smiles, slow and wicked. “Loser does the dishes.”

Bucky takes off in a blur, wings flapping above him. Sam sputters in outrage and shifts into a falcon, following through the sky.

Steve laughs to himself, feeling Bucky’s delight and competitiveness through the bond. He’s in love with an idiot, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Even if he’s the one who has to wash the dirty plates they used for dinner.

 

**

 

Steve walks through the snow, but he does not feel the cold. He remembers Natasha’s words from months ago, about what being bonded feels like. _Sunshine_ , she said, and Steve has to agree.

There is sunshine inside of his heart, warming the depths of his soul.

The forest is quiet around him, the only sound being that of his feet crushing through the snow. His wings curl closer to his back, feathers tickling the back of his neck. He hasn’t walked this path in over a year, but it is still familiar to him.

The place where it all started.

The lake is just as deep and dark as Steve remembers it, unfrozen even in the middle of winter. He sits at the edge of it, boots sending ripples through the water, and waits. It is about ten minutes later when he sees it, under the water, two glinting beads of amber staring up at him.

“Hello,” Steve says, extending his wings a little.

The mermaid swims closer to the surface, head breaking through the surface, her green hair matted against her blueish skin. “Hello,” she says, flashing her sharp teeth. “Isn’t this a surprise.”

Steve shrugs, wings moving with him. “I thought I’d come say hi.”

The mermaid stares at him, tail swishing through the water. “Not many victims come back to the place they almost died.”

“No, I guess not,” Steve agrees with a humorless smile. “I... I just wanted to see it, this place, one last time.”

“Then see,” the mermaid says, tilting her head at him, “but do not come closer. I won’t let you get away from me twice.”

Steve swallows but nods, resting his chin on his knees and watching the lake. The mermaid gives him one last glance before disappearing under the water, splashing Steve once before she goes. Steve shakes his head and wipes the water from his face, but he feels more settled than scared.

Because the lake? Well. The lake is where Steve started living.

 

**

 

Bucky meets him at the door to their home, bundled up in a soft sweater and thick red scarf. His hair is up in a bun, a few strands falling and framing his face. He takes one look at Steve’s wet clothes and frowns, concern marring his features.

“She didn’t try to drown you again, did she?”

“No,” Steve answers, coming up to him and resting his hands on Bucky’s hips. “Just splashed me a little.”

“Good,” Bucky murmurs, cupping Steve’s face and giving him a sweet welcome home kiss. “I’d hate to have to kill her. And then I’d hate for Nat to have to kill _me_.”

“No killing needed,” Steve swears, kissing Bucky again just because he can. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Yes,” Bucky pulls back, making a show of running his eyes up and down Steve’s body, “you sure are.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, pushing at Bucky’s shoulders. “That was awful.”

Bucky grins, tapping a finger to Steve’s chin. “Made you smile, though.”

Steve gathers Bucky close again, hugging him tight. He kisses Bucky’s neck, the edge of his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, heart so full with love he could burst. “You always make me smile.”

And Bucky does. Even through Steve’s darkest times, through his soul-crushing loneliness and doubts and sadness, Bucky’s been there. He turned Steve’s world upside down, and unknowingly helped Steve find pieces of himself he thought were long lost.

Bucky sighs, brushing their lips together. “That’s embarrassing, doll.”

“We’re embarrassing, sweetheart,” Steve throws back, giving Bucky a chaste kiss. “Isn’t that what Sam always says?”

“And Clint,” Bucky agrees. “But I’d rather not talk about them when I’m trying to kiss you.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

The kiss is chaste at first, just a press of lips, before Bucky sucks at Steve’s bottom lip and licks inside. Steve opens up for him with a sigh, falling into the kiss, letting Bucky set the pace, sweet and slow.

They lose a few minutes like that, just tasting each other, before Bucky pulls back. He doesn’t let Steve go too far, bringing him back a hand on his cheek so Bucky can pepper kisses all over his face. Steve laughs, trying to kiss Bucky back as best as he can, soul singing.

“C’mon,” Bucky says with a final kiss to Steve’s forehead, “let’s get inside.”

Steve lets Bucky lead him, their arms wrapped around each other, wings brushing together. Their home is warm and inviting and cozy, and Steve’s shoulders relax when he steps inside and he door closes behind them.

In Steve’s heart, their bond flickers — binding and bright.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've reached the end! i had so much fun writing this, and i hope you all enjoyed reading along :D
> 
> thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me as i wrote this; those who commented and left kudos and bookmarked the fic. you all make writing worth it <3

**Author's Note:**

> you can always find me on [tumblr](http://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions or want to see me yell about stevebucky. :D
> 
>    
> [rebloggable version.](http://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/post/157872922786/traveling-light-by-wearingtearing-for)


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